


The Sound of Silence

by MistressDandelion



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Ace Male Characters, Ace!Dadsona, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Asexual Character, Being emotionally vulnerable, Bi Male Characters, But I'll change the rating when I get to it, Chaptered, Consent, Consent Issues, Crying, Dadsona has a potty mouth, Enthusiastic Consent, Everyone knows Bad Dad is all about consent, Explicit Consent, Feelings, Fluff, Gay male characters, Guys who smoke and treat you badly, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, LGBT, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Seriously just all the puns, Smoking, Smoking as a sexy and confusing thing, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, alcohol use, bad dad, dad puns, daddy - Freeform, friendship first, puns, slowburn, there will probably be smut later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2018-12-06 18:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 49,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11606928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressDandelion/pseuds/MistressDandelion
Summary: Have you ever wanted to pack up your life, burn your last bridge, and make a whole new start somewhere else? Oh what the hell, of course you have. Leaving behind a home, a daughter, and the shadows of a life you’d rather forget, you’ve up and moved a thousand miles away to find a new start.What you find instead is a man who reminds you so strongly of your past that even catching his eye across a crowded bar takes your breath away and sets your heart racing with fear.Robert Small x DadsonaSlow-burn, fluffy, friendship/romance fic with a healthy dose of angst and drama. There will probably be smut later on.Updates weekly, on Mondays.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, dear Readers, 
> 
> Thanks for picking up this fic. 
> 
> I personally struggled a *lot* with Robert's arc, for a lot of the same reasons Reader struggles with him, but as soon as I finished it I knew I had to write a fic. I'm not sure how long it'll be, but I hope you'll bear with me as I find out! 
> 
> Please, enjoy.

The engine in your tiny, beat up SUV strained against the weight bearing it down, revving with the effort of hauling your whole life up a hill. Calling it an SUV was a bit of an ego boost since she was so small, but then again, so was giving her a name, and that had never stopped you before. Old Jez was the only thing you had left in the world--along with several boxes of books, the clothes you'd been able to fit into the single suitcase you owned, a shitty laptop, and an old keyboard that had seen better days.

That was it: everything you'd salvaged or found important enough to bring with you from your trainwreck of a life.

There was nothing else. No pictures, not even a cell phone. You'd left it all behind.

Jez gave a whine of protest as you pushed her to the top of the hill, but she crested it like a champ. Then it was a nice, easy downhill ride, and then you'd be home free. This was definitely a place you could settle down. You could see it now: throwing ragers in the tiny, two bedroom house, knowing all the neighbors. Having a life.

You couldn't help snorting. More like getting a cat to fill some of the empty space and then sitting alone every day until you died.

_Way to stay positive, buddy._

As you pulled into the neighborhood, you looked around with interest. You'd visited briefly before, of course. It was a quiet place, minutes away from a coffee shop, a park, and a handful of bars and restaurants on foot, and you couldn't help the little surge of excitement as you pulled into the driveway of your new home. It was the kind of place that seemed perfect for starting fresh.

You could imagine yourself walking down to the coffee shop regularly to get some work done, or finding a little bar to frequent after long days at the office.

Again, you had to laugh at yourself. _Look at you, still so fucking hopeful_. It would be a miracle if you left the house at all, let alone made any friends. You hadn't moved to make friends, you'd moved to put some distance between you and. . .

An odd quartet passed by at a jog, a man pushing an occupied stroller and two twin girls. Their laughter as they flew past caught your attention, and you were still shaking your head, a smile tugging at your mouth, when you got to the front door.

Juggling the suitcase, a box you thought held your favorite books, and the keys to the house, you managed to unlock it without too much trouble.

An empty house greeted you. No fresh fragrance of cookies baking or flowers blooming prettily on the kitchen table. Just a house that smelled vaguely of dust, an empty front room, and shadows that lurked just beyond the light that sneaked in through the door and windows. There was no furniture, no coverings on the windows, you were lucky the fridge and other appliances had, by some miracle, been included in the cost. Someone must have really wanted out of this house.

You let the suitcase fall to the floor and then carefully settled the box onto the carpet. As you went back to your car for more boxes and returned a moment later, you realized you could see straight through the windows and into the house. A shudder ran down your spine.

_First things first: buy some fucking curtains._

It didn’t take you long to bring in the handful of boxes, though getting the keyboard in through the front door did take some effort. Once you’d finally gotten everything inside, you stopped, suddenly unsure of yourself.

There didn’t seem to be anything else to do.

You didn’t have a shelf to unpack your books onto, you didn’t have any food, you didn’t even have a bed. It would be a long, hard night on the floor.

_Second things second: buy a fucking bed._

The weight of your decision suddenly crashed into you. You’d been putting it off, trying not to think about it, for weeks. Truth be told, you’d thought you’d come to terms with it. You’d left, hadn’t you? You’d made your decision, planned it all out, executed it perfectly. It had been a plan months in the making. You’d agonized over it, fought with yourself over it, you’d done everything in your power to convince yourself not to do it.

But you’d done it, and even as you’d reveled in the sudden freedom, the pain and fear had been there, in the back of your mind.

Now it hit you, and you sank to the floor of your new, empty home, curling up right there against the front door and choking back a sob. Your whole body began to shake, the spasms lurching in your throat and stomach until you felt sick. As the tears took you, you realized that they were only partially because of what you’d left behind.

In a way, the prospect of being free and alone, for the first time in years, weighed far more heavily on you than everything you’d left behind to get there. You were finally well and truly alone, and though every part of you wanted to believe it wasn’t true, you knew you were going to be alone forever. No one would want to be around you, to have to deal with your baggage.

You cried until you felt dried out, and then you just . . . sort of lay there for a while. The thoughts from earlier had settled into a sort of emptiness, a fuzziness in your head that you couldn’t seem to pierce.

Only when your stomach growled did you realize that you hadn’t eaten anything since that morning. By now, the square of sun from the window had crawled across the carpet and touched the wall. Evening was drawing in around your house, leaving you in shadow. It was late.

Your stomach growled again, and you finally knew it was time to find some food. After scrubbing your face in the bathroom sink for a few minutes, trying to erase the proof of your little breakdown, you left the house. It had gotten later than you’d thought, the shadows of evening lengthening into the darkness of night. Still, you had no food in the house, so you had no choice. Somewhere was bound to be open.

You decided to walk, enjoying the touch of the cool air against your face.

In the end, you found a little hole-in-the-wall bar. A drink and some greasy food sounded perfect, and so you stepped inside and into a room that really wasn’t much brighter than it had been outside.

Quiet music played in the background, while The Game played on the handful of televisions scattered around the room. There were a surprising number of people inside, some sitting in groups at the tables scattered around, others sitting solo at the bar. The general atmosphere was calm, if a little sketchy, and you immediately felt at home.

No one really looked up or noticed when you came inside. You preferred it that way. Only the bartender seemed to notice that someone had entered, and he shot you a look as you found your way to a stool and sat, as far away from the door as possible. He was nice enough, and the drink and food menu you ordered were promptly delivered. Then he left you alone to peruse the menu, and peruse it you did.

When you’d put in an order and gotten some alcohol into you, everything was beginning to feel fine. Any town where you could find a bar this dingy and cozy was an alright town to start fresh in.

Just as you had nearly become absorbed in The Game, the door opened. Your eyes were drawn immediately toward the motion.  
You froze.

Your heart seemed to stop beating in your chest, but only for an instant. Then it jump-started into roaring, terrified life.

The bar seemed to fade away around you, until all you saw was the man who had just stepped inside.

It was _him_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dadsona panics at the sight of Robert and meets Mary for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Chapter Two arrives! 
> 
> I was surprised and happy with the amount of views I got in just a couple of days! Seriously, I'd forgotten how much fun it is to write and have people actively read it. I don't have a specific update schedule yet, but expect an update at *least* once a week from now on, kay? 
> 
> Enjoy!

The illusion was gone in a moment; it was nobody, just a man who had the same shade of skin, the same black hair, the same dark, haunted eyes. Even the leather jacket was the same. But the details were wrong. The face was wrong, the cheeks and chin covered in several days’ worth of stubble. The hair was wrong, touched by a bit of silver at the temples. 

The eyes though . . . as the man cast a look around the bar, his eyes passed over you, and you froze. Your heart raced in your chest, your whole body itching to move. To run away. Your lungs froze and you gasped for breath. Until the man had taken a seat at the opposite end of the bar and released you from his gaze, you couldn’t breathe. 

Even as you quietly reassured yourself, the tingling touch of terror kept you on the edge of your barstool.  _ It’s not him. It's just someone who looks  _ really  _ similar.  _ But it had been enough. 

The shakes were starting, little tremors that started at the base of your skull and twitched all the way down your spine and to your hips every handful of seconds. The harder you tensed, trying to keep yourself under control, the harder the shaking got. Now you took huge, deep breaths only as a way to steady yourself--and keep from running away screaming or breaking down into tears again. 

Somehow, you didn't think Mr. Nice Bartender would be happy to have a bawling, shaking mess on his hands. 

Briefly, you considered just  _ leaving.  _ Anything to get away from that presence that loomed on the other side of the bar, just within your line of sight. But you’d ordered food. As a reminder, your stomach growled, and the physical reminder of hunger grounded you. 

You could stay long enough to finish a quick meal and your drink. 

You could manage that.

If the man at the end of the bar would just stop . . .  _ brooding.  _ His presence was like a physical force across from you, like a cloud hanging on a barstool and threatening to start shooting lightning. You could mostly ignore him by keeping your eyes focused on the The Game, but just knowing he was there kept your heart beating hard and the shakes tremoring through your back and arms.

“You okay, buddy?” The bartender dropped a plate of  steaming wings in front of you as he spoke. 

The aroma of cooked chicken and what you assumed was some sort of specialty sauce, washed over you in a cloud of steam. It was so calming, the sudden wrenching in your stomach reminding you that you were  _ starving,  _ and that things were always better after you’d gotten some food into you. 

“Uh, yeah.” You shrugged, diving in for a wing before you’d even finished speaking. “Yeah, I’m good. Can you turn the game up?” 

You didn’t know either of the teams playing, but maybe the added background noise would help distract you from the dark, smoldering gaze of the man across the bar. The bartender shrugged and turned up the volume a touch. You quietly sank into the embrace of your hot wings and the drink, the tension seeming to melt away with every bite and sip. 

Life always looked a little better with food and alcohol in your belly.

Depending on the ratios, of course. Any more alcohol and you’d probably find yourself back on the living room floor in a heap of sadness. 

_ Oh, shut up, guy. Are you really that pathetic?  You’re  _ fine,  _ you’ve  _ got this.

You grew more and more relaxed and assured as the wings settled in your stomach. Every so often someone would cheer when their team made a decent play or a goal, and you found yourself engaged in the general camaraderie of watching The Game with a roomful of strangers who barely even knew you existed. You heard some playful banter from several of the groups and the bartender talking to his regulars. 

You could never quite forget about the man on the opposite end of the bar, but you ignored him pretty well for the better part of half an hour. 

A voice suddenly broke into your wing reverie. “Hey, sailor.” 

You looked up, surprised that someone had approached you, and saw a woman. She was pretty in her own way, and swaying gently as she let an empty glass hit the bar with a thump. “Buy a girl a drink?” 

She was forward. You didn’t know quite what to make of that. You also didn’t know if you wanted to, or could even  _ afford  _ buying this strange woman a drink. She looked at you expectantly, and finally, you shrugged.

_ Screw it.  _

With a quick nod to the bartender, you gave the okay, and he poured the woman another of whatever she’d been drinking. She thanked him by name--she must’ve been a regular. 

To make conversation, you asked: “What’re you drinking?” 

“Whiskey.” She didn’t seem very talkative, now that she’d gotten what she wanted out of you.

“Ah, seems like you’re whisk-easy to please.”

She stared at you. 

There was a quick beat of silence, and you could feel yourself wanting to sink into the floor. Why’d you have to open your big mouth? “Uh, y’know. Whiskey, whisk-easy, it’s a . . . it’s a pun.” 

The woman blinked. “You’re new in town, aren’t you?” The abrupt topic change threw you, but you grasped at it like a lifeline. 

_ Am I that obvious?  _

“Is it that obvious?” You said aloud. 

Another shrug from the woman, and she downed her drink. You widened your eyes, impressed. “You stick out, and I never forget a face. Wanna get out of here?” 

“Lady,” You barely had time to curb your words, shocked into responding. “I don’t even know your name yet.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” That seemed to be that, as she turned to pursue some other sap. But then she stopped, pausing long enough to glance back at you over her shoulder. “It’s Mary.” 

“Nice to--” You started, but she was already gone, already pounced on some other kid who looked ready to grab his phone and bolt. 

When you turned back to your already destroyed plate of wings, hoping to find one more hiding somewhere in the pile of bones, you found yourself caught under the eyes you’d been trying to avoid all night. The man at the end of the bar had been watching you, for who knew how long. As you met his eyes, he tipped his glass toward you in some sort of cryptic salute. You couldn’t move, couldn’t even look away, until he suddenly stood up, abandoned his place, and stepped outside. You sagged on your stool, as if only the force of his gaze had been holding you up.

That was your chance. Free of the oppressive presence of the other man, you called the bartender over and settled your bill. It was higher than you would’ve liked, after buying Mary that drink, but you’d manage. Against all odds, you still had a decent savings built up. It was going to take a hit almost immediately--curtains and beds and bookshelves, oh my!--but you could swing a drink for the  _ pleasure  _ of a kind of annoying woman’s company. 

You left the bartender a decent tip, as well, though you weren’t sure if you’d return to this bar again. Not if that man frequented it. 

You had just crossed to the front door and opened it to leave when someone else barged through. You fetched up against him, caught off guard as the smell of whiskey and smoke and old leather punched you in the gut. 

“‘Scuse me,” The man said, pushing past you. He barely even looked at you as he did, but he caught your eye for a fraction of a second. You rocked back to let him pass, clutching the door knob so hard your knuckles turned white. He didn’t even seem to notice, simply going back to his barstool and ordering another drink. 

You left the bar in a hurry, then, practically running home. 

There wasn’t anything particularly comforting there, and you nearly broke your neck tripping over a box in the dark, but at least in the house there would be a lock between you and the outside world. And in the darkness of the empty bedroom, you could nearly erase the image of a dark-haired, scruffy-chinned man from behind your eyes. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dadsona goes shopping! You also meet Mat and make the fatal mistake of being clumsy as fuck in front of Bad Dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, seriously. I've been having a *lot* of fun with this story. I've loved seeing your comments and watching my hits go up over the last couple days! 
> 
> I'm gonna tentatively say that you can expect two updates a week from me! Probably Mon/Tues and Thurs/Fri, depending on my timing. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading. Enjoy!

You woke to sunlight shining down on you and an unfamiliar sound. As you blinked awake, rolling away from the sunshine, you realized the sound was birds singing. This really was White-picket-fence Lane. 

“What the hell time is it?” You tried to go back to sleep, but the treacherous carpet, so soft when you’d first laid down the night before, had gone hard under your shoulder, your hip, your knees. Your whole body ached, no matter how often you switched position.

Finally, you rolled up, sitting up directly into a shaft of sunlight. 

“Right. Curtains.” 

Without even a clock, you had no way of knowing what time it was, but you got up anyway. Might as well start the day. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. It was probably that time, and the persistent ache in your back and shoulder meant you wouldn’t be getting any more sleep. 

Showering was an ordeal. You hadn't managed to pack any necessities--not even a towel--so you rinsed as well as you could without soap or shampoo, and then stood dripping for a moment before finally drying off with the t-shirt you'd worn yesterday. 

The list of things you would need to buy just kept growing.

As you dressed while standing over an open suitcase, you mentally went over the list. At the top, in giant, imaginary red letters was: CURTAINS. Under that, you had Bed and Misc. furniture, and then, as an afterthought, Office supplies. That way you could write an  _ actual  _ list eventually. 

It was shaping up to be a long day. 

You amended your list to include Coffee, and then you made your way outside, where Jez waited. You needed her to help haul any of your loot back home. She revved to life after coughing for a minute, and you patted her steering wheel affectionately. She probably needed a tune-up after hauling your ass halfway across the country. 

That would have to wait, though. 

Shopping for furniture had always been a guilty pleasure for you. You knew you couldn't afford much, but even you had to admit you went a little wild when you set foot in the local discount furniture store. 

You left with the receipt for a new bed frame, a tiny couch, a bookshelf, a coffee table, and a funky lamp. The next logical step was a homegoods store, where you picked up sheets and pillows, some basic home necessities, and, on a whim, a clock. Of course, you needed a mattress, and that put a nice chunk in your finances. By the time you'd bought a few of the less pretty necessities--toilet paper and shampoo,  _ fun-- _ you could hardly think straight. 

Exhausted, you remembered your promise of coffee, and your stomach growled at the thought of pastries. You'd need to buy groceries and eat at home soon, but for now you thought you deserved a treat. 

Remembering that there was a coffee shop not too far from your house, you headed there. You had just enough time to grab some coffee before you needed to be home to meet the person delivering your new furniture. The name of the shop rang a bell in your mind, but you couldn’t quite place it until you walked in and saw the menu. All of the drinks were clever references to songs or poems.

That was when it hit you. Of course, you’d studied T.S Eliot extensively in high school. 

The man behind the counter greeted you warmly almost as soon as you stepped inside. “Hey, welcome.” You nodded back at him, distracted from the menu for only a moment. The names cracked you up. 

Finally, you stepped up to order. “Sorry, I was just taking some time to wonder if I dare.” You shot him a sly look, grinning as he narrowed his eyes at you. Clearly trying to see if the jibe had been intentional or not. “You must get that all the time.” 

“You’d be surprised.” A grin broke across his face, and you ordered the Godspeed You! Black Coffee. You wondered if it would ruin the effect to get it with cream and sugar instead of black. “You from around here?” He seemed genuinely curious. 

“Just moved in down the street, actually.” You shifted, wary of such openness.

He nodded, but seemed to take your closed answer in stride. Your coffee was ready in record time, along with a muffin he threw in with it “for getting the name.” You turned away from the counter, wondering if you had time to sit for a moment. This was the kind of coffee shop you could see yourself spending a lot of time in. Probably too much time, truth be told. 

Instead, you decided you should probably be home in time to meet the delivery person. You  _ did  _ stop by a little table where creams, sugars, and other coffee fixings had thoughtfully been laid out. Sending a guilty look at the barista, you added too much sugar and some cream to your drink. 

You were so absorbed in this task that you missed the telltale tinkle of the bells on the door and another patron entering the coffee shop. So you were caught totally off guard when you turned around and found yourself face-to-face with someone. 

You yelped and jumped back, your coffee cup falling to the floor as your fingers went limp. 

Coffee splashed, and you yelped again as you managed to catch a handful of scalding coffee in your stupid attempt to catch the falling cup. 

“ _ Shit!”  _

The man from the bar stepped back, but not quickly enough to avoid a splash of coffee. The hot liquid touched his jeans, and he hissed in displeasure. “These are my buddy’s jeans.” You froze, staring from your own burning fingers, to the puddle of coffee, to the stain on the man’s jeans, to his face. “These are the jeans Johnny Boy was wearing when he died in my arms. He fell in with a bad crowd after his wife left him. Got a call from him one night, and he sounded bad, wanted me to come over. It was too late by the time I got there. I did everything I could to save him, but there's only so much you can do to help a stab victim. So now all I have is this pair of jeans, so  _ thanks  _ for that.” 

You stuttered, totally at a loss. What did you say after  _ that?  _

The commotion attracted the barista, and he hurried over with a mop. “Hey, lay off, Robert. Take it easy on the guy.” He turned to you and, in the same breath, reassured you. “He’s kidding.”

The man from the bar just looked at you blankly. “Or am I?” 

You stared back, your heart beginning to race again.  _ Oh, you’ve got to be  _ kidding  _ me. What’re the odds he’d have the same fucking name? _

After the barista kindly offered to replace the coffee you’d spilled (and he’d cleaned up), you found yourself standing awkwardly at the counter beside the man from the bar while he and the barista chatted. You amended the thought--while the barista, Mat, chattered away at the man from the bar, Robert, who stood mostly silently. Apparently they knew one another. 

You stood quietly while Mat remade your drink, and made Robert’s order as well. Uncomfortably aware of the man standing close beside you, you flinched every time he moved. He still smelled of smoke and leather, but now the aroma of coffee radiated from his as well. You flushed with embarrassment as you realized that was  _ your  _ fault. 

Finally, Mat handed you another coffee. “I put cream and sugar in for you.” He said with a smile. 

“Wow,” Touched by the gesture, you managed a smile. “Sorry about the floor . . . and, uh,” you shot a glance up at Robert, forcing the words out in a half whisper. “And your jeans.” 

Robert grunted.

Mat waved away the apology. “It happens. See ya around sometime, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” 

You left with the sour taste of fear coating the back of your throat. Was nowhere in town safe from that man?

_ Not too late to pack up and move again.  _

The delivery truck in front of your house said otherwise. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You meet Church Dad and get settled into your new home. You're not sure what to make of the neighborhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, guys, seriously. Thank you so much for reading my fic and leaving me nice comments and just, THANK YOU FOR 1,000 HITS
> 
> I love Joseph so much, so expect to see a lot of him (even if it's mostly just him being awkward and a little cringy). 
> 
> I also just realized that not a lot really happens in this chapter? But it's Joseph being Joseph, so -shrug-
> 
> Thanks for reading <3

The delivery team had only just arrived when you pulled into the driveway. They got you to sign for the furniture and quickly got to work hauling the boxes into your house. You’d already paid the assembly fee, and so for at least an hour you hovered anxiously around while the two men assembled and placed the furniture for you. 

The couch stayed in the main living room, positioned to stare directly at a blank wall, while the bed was assembled and pushed into a corner in the bedroom. The bookshelf went right in the main room, too, where you had to fight the urge to start unpacking your books right away. You tried to make small talk with the workers, but they were only interested in getting the job done and leaving. 

When they’d left, you locked the door behind them and then sank down onto your new couch, staring around. You’d managed to bring your other shopping in as well, and you’d piled the bags on and around the couch. The new furniture and the shopping bags really did make the place feel a little more like a home. Like someone actually lived here. 

Now you just needed groceries and dishes, and you could consider yourself halfway independent and “making it.”

You'd just gotten up and started pulling items out of bags when the doorbell rang. 

Your heart jumped into your throat. Had one of the delivery men forgotten something? Tense, you stepped across to the door, trying to stay away from the front window. You peered through the peephole, holding your breath. 

It wasn't a good view, but the man standing on the doorstep didn't look at all familiar. 

_ Oh what the hell. You  _ did  _ want to know all the damn neighbors.  _

You opened the door, but only a little bit, pushing your shoulder against the frame to block as much of this person's view of your home as possible. 

“Hey, neighbor!” The man looked so unthreatening you sagged with relief. He was clean-cut, and he had a smile that'd charm birds. “Some of the neighbors said this house had finally sold, and I just saw the truck, so I wanted to stop by and, y’know, welcome you to the neighborhood.” 

You managed a smile. “Ah, thanks. Didn't realize word would get around so quickly.” 

“You'd be surprised. We tend to be pretty close around here, so  _ someone  _ is bound to notice a new face.” 

There was a beat of silence, and you shifted your weight. You looked away from the man’s face, and suddenly he started, as if just remembering something. “Oh! Here, my daughter and I were baking, so we thought we'd share the wealth.” He leaned in, whispering conspiratorially. “She did the sprinkles.” 

You caught your breath, staring down at the plate of brownies as you accepted it. This required you to move some, giving the man a chance to glance behind you and into the house. “Thanks,” you looked up at him again in time to see his eyes flick back to your face. “Thank your daughter, too. I--” quickly, you cleared your throat. “Thank you.”

He tactfully ignored you as you cleared your throat again. “I've interrupted, haven't I? You were unpacking.” 

“Oh, no, not really.” The lie came out smoothly. “Not a whole lot to unpack anyway . . .” You knew he’d seen into the house--seen the sparse furniture and the handful of boxes. It didn’t look like a typical move, of  _ that  _ you were sure. 

The man laughed, a lighthearted sound that finally got a real smile out of you. “Keeping it simple, hm? What brought you to the neighborhood?” 

You stiffened, leaning back against the doorframe.  _ Easy, tiger. . .  _ This would be delicate. “I, uh. . . Needed a new start. New town, new life. You know how it goes.” It wasn't a complete lie, so you didn't feel too guilty. There was no need to mention that you only had five boxes (all of them books) because you'd only had a tiny amount of time to pack and get out. 

The man just nodded. 

_ Shit, shit! He knows you're lying.  _

The look in the man’s eye said it all. “Well,” he stuck a hand out for you to shake, and you did so, cringing at the contact. “If you need  _ anything,  _ I'm right next door. I'm a youth pastor at the local church, too; I'll do what I can, okay?” 

There it was: the sympathy. The look in his eye that said he  _ knew  _ something was off, and he felt sorry for you. Like he'd seen your kind a million times and knew exactly what you needed. 

“Thanks.” The word caught in your throat. 

“If you go to the church, just ask for Joseph. They’ll send you in the right direction.” He left with a little wave, his little outreach program completed. 

You knew his offer had been kindly meant, but it left you feeling a little condescended to. You closed and locked the door again, staring down at the plate of brownies in your hands. This was the neighborhood you’d moved into. A neighborhood where the barista made poetry and music jokes, where a woman in the bar hit on every new face she saw, and where a local youth pastor brought you brownies he’d baked with his daughter. 

And where a man with the same name and face that haunted your dreams apparently frequented  _ literally  _ every location you might be tempted to visit occasionally. 

You spent the rest of your day putting up the curtains you’d bought. Every now and then you glimpsed someone pass on the sidewalk--there seemed to be an inordinate amount of children running around the neighborhood, and you caught the familiar sight of the barista arriving home from work--you assumed. He caught you watching while you took a break to rest your arms and gave you a little wave of recognition. You waved back, bemused.

You got to watch what looked like the usual neighborhood activity. Once the curtains had been hung, you flung yourself to the couch and just . . . watched for a while, trying not to feel like a creep. Things were so quiet. You could see a man working on his yard across the way, and a gaggle of blonde children riding their bikes, who you assumed probably belonged to Joseph. 

Everything seemed so . . . normal. So mundane. So, pedestrian. 

The kind of neighborhood where nothing exciting ever happened, but if it  _ did,  _ everyone knew about it within the hour. You had to wonder what you were doing in such an idyllic neighborhood. You didn’t belong there, surrounded by happy families and people who had lives. 

Hunching down on the couch, you pulled the curtains closed, finally closing yourself off from the outside world. Now there would be no fear of anyone seeing you from outside. 

You busied yourself unpacking the few boxes you had, stacking your old favorite books on the shelf where they belonged. Having them out, their worn pages and familiar names staring up at you again, finally made the house feel a little bit like it could be your new home. You pulled one of your old favorites down--The Lord of the Rings. Something familiar and comforting to read while the day passed outside your curtains. 

You settled in on the new couch and began to read. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You officially meet Robert. Also puns. *All* the puns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously guys, *all of the puns* happen in this chapter. Like, you may actually hate me for writing this chapter.
> 
> If you don't hate me by the end, thank you xD
> 
> Small edit: I just found out there's a canon list of drinks Mat serves. So, as proud as I was of To Kill a Mochabird, I edited to include the canon name :)

You woke with a crick in your neck and a puddle of drool marking the new couch as officially yours. You couldn’t remember when you’d fallen asleep, but you’d slept so well on the couch that you almost regretted buying a new bed. The couch had been a nice investment at least.

You stretched and reclined on the couch for a little, trying to decide if you wanted to go back to sleep or finally get up and start your day. You’d gone nearly a week without getting any work done. It was probably time to get back to work.

That meant showering and heading back down to the Coffee Spoon. Once you’d gotten Wi-fi installed, you’d probably never need to leave the house again, but until then, free Wi-fi was a must.

You arrived at the coffee shop with your hair still damp and your shitty old laptop tucked under one arm. You hesitated outside for a moment. There was a chance you’d find yourself face to face with the man from the bar again. Were you ready to take that chance?

The need for caffeine finally pushed you inside. _You’re an adult, you can handle seeing someone who looks a_ little _like him._

Mat the barista turned to greet you as the bells on the door rang, and his face lit up into a smile as he saw you.

“Oh, hey!”

“Hey,” You wondered briefly if you’d ever get used to the enthusiastic way these people talked. Like everyone was their best friend and they were pleased as punch to see them. “Mat, right?” It couldn’t hurt to be friendly with the barista. And it didn’t seem like the guy from the bar was around, so staying at the coffee shop seemed like a good way to kill some of your time today.

“That’s me. I don’t think I caught your name yesterday.”

You shrugged, introducing yourself.

“Having another Godspeed You! Black Coffee?”

“Not today.” You’d taken another look at the menu, chuckling under your breath at the names you hadn’t noticed the day before. “Mocha! At the Disco, please.”

“Coming right up.”

You found a plush armchair and kicked back at once, booting up your laptop.

Soon, you were absorbed in your work, typing away rapidly while you caught up on the writing that had been piling up while you drove for four days straight and then settled into a new home. That was the one benefit of working mostly from home, you realized. You could let the work pile up and then spend one good day getting it all back down to a totally manageable pile instead.

You became so absorbed in the words on your screen, your mind filled with your work for once instead of worries, that you stopped paying attention to your surroundings. All around you the coffee shop hummed with activity. Either Mat puttering around and cleaning, or customers coming in to order and then either leave or sit and chat or work. The atmosphere of the shop was cozy and calming, the perfect place to get some work done.

You typed away until your drink had cooled and you were jittering in your seat, adding the finishing touches to one of the articles you wrote every week. It wasn’t for anything fancy, but it paid well, and the work itself was easy.

Out of nowhere, someone making their way past you to another chair jogged against your legs. You jolted up, startled by the sudden contact and the splash of lukewarm liquid that showered dangerously close to your laptop. Shrinking into the armchair, you cried out and pulled your laptop close, looking up into the face of none other than Robert.

Your heart did that familiar leap up into your throat, and you caught your breath at the sight of him. He juggled his cup, managing to hold onto it and, by some miracle, managed not to spill more than the few drops that had hit your jeans.

“Woah, I think I’m having Deja Brew.”

The words popped out of your mouth before you could stop them.

The man froze, his eyes falling to your face and his expression going carefully blank. Only his eyebrows moved, drawing so far down that you flinched away, shrinking even further into the cushions of the chair.

_Smooth, asshole._

On the other side of the shop, Mat burst into laughter. “Deja Brew, oh, my god! That pun was _grounds_ for arrest.”

Someone _else_ liked your puns? Raising your eyebrows, you relaxed, uncurling a bit from the defensive position you’d taken as Robert stepped away, shaking his head. He didn’t go far, plopping down on the nearest armchair and groaning in disgust at Mat’s pun.

“I cannot espresso how much I hate you two right now.”

You exploded into laughter.

Never, in a million years, had you expected to hear a _pun_ come out of that man’s mouth. He leveled an even gaze in your direction, glaring, but you couldn’t stop laughing. You pressed a hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but now that it had started, you were in it for the long haul.

Finally, gasping, you managed to choke out something approximating words. “Thanks a latte for the laugh.”

Mat barked out a laugh from across the shop, but Robert only rolled his eyes.

Wiping your eyes, you closed your laptop and stood up. “Jesus Christ, I think that’s my _brew_ to leave.”

“Don’t mind Robert’s tamper,” Mat quipped, waving broadly from where he clutched at the counter, laughing helplessly. “He’s just _bitter.”_

As you inched your way past Robert, who was carefully ignoring both you and Mat now, sipping his coffee with a glower resting on his face, you swallowed back a grin. Exchanging puns at the man’s expense had relaxed you more than anything else ever could have. He took a pointed sip of his coffee as you passed, but you saw his eyes flicker toward you just as you turned toward the door.

You wished Mat a good day, still chuckling as you stepped outside and into the muggy heat of a summer day. The coffee had given you some energy, your work was mostly done, and you were in a better mood than you could remember being in for . . .

For weeks.

Your steps faltered at the thought, and you came to a stop on the sidewalk, your face falling into a thoughtful frown. You thought, _hard,_ trying to remember the last time your spirit had felt this light. It had been months, maybe even a few years. You’d been in a constant state of . . . _low_ for so long, you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to feel light and cheerful like this.

Behind you, the bells on the Coffee Spoon door jingled. You stiffened, starting to move again, hoping whoever had come outside would go the opposite direction.

“Hey!” You flinched, ducking your head and turning all in the same movement.

Robert approached slowly, his expression not changing from the same malcontent glare he’d worn every other time you’d seen him.

“Uh, yes?” Falling back a step as he came closer, you flinched as he lifted his hand.

“Affogato introduce myself. Name’s Robert.”

You stared, one arm thrown up defensively, at the hand he’d extended. His expression hadn’t changed, but he _had_ made that pun, right? “Uh,” Carefully, you shook his hand, feeling the roughness of scars and callous on his palm and fingers. You introduced yourself, stammering. “Yeah, right. Nice to . . . officially meet you, I guess?” Your heart had been in your throat since hearing the bells jingling, but looking into his face, you didn’t see anything there to alarm you. He met your gaze as evenly as he always had, his grip firm as you shook hands for just a fraction of a second too long.

He was the first one to pull away, but you broke eye contact only a moment later.

“If you’re ever back at Jim and Kim’s, maybe I’ll buy you a drink.”

The offer hung in the air, along with the ever-familiar scent of smoke and leather, even after he’d abruptly brushed past you and left.

What the _hell_ kind of town had you come to?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dadsona falls into a new routine and makes a new friend in the dead of night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still having a lot of fun with this piece, honestly. Dreamed I posted some smut and ruined my slow burn, but no fear. The slow burn lives on haha 
> 
> Thanks again for reading, dudes.

You didn’t set foot outside again for several days, except to buy groceries. You subsisted on sandwiches and the brownies Joseph had brought over a few days before, and vodka. Lots of vodka. The brownies were, you had to admit, delicious. Mostly, you puttered around the house and caught up on work. You kept the curtains drawn, and truth be told, you slept more than anything else. 

One night, you stepped outside on a whim, rubbing your eyes to relieve some of the tension. You always felt a little tight--in your neck and face--after spending so much time in front of your computer. 

It must’ve been close to 2am. Stepping out onto your porch, a mixed drink in one hand, you ventured out far enough to look up at the stars. The neighborhood was dead quiet around you, everyone asleep and totally unaware of your presence in the night. It was nice. Peaceful. 

You sat on the porch step after a moment, sipping your drink and watching the stars. 

Was this what freedom was? Enjoying a drink on your own porch in the dead of of night? Sitting alone, no distractions, to think about the mysteries of the universe? 

You shook your head. 

How long had it been since you'd been able to do something like this? To sit quietly and contemplate life without half-listening for the sound of the garage door opening or footsteps on the staircase. Without worrying about the snide comments when you poured another drink. Clenching your teeth, you took another sip of your drink, smiling grimly at the satisfaction of doing whatever the fuck you wanted. 

All of that other stuff was behind you. 

The crunching of rapid footsteps caught your attention suddenly. Jumping to your feet, you were halfway to the door before you realized there was  _ no way  _ they were human footsteps. You turned, the slash of light that fell through a gap in your curtains illuminating the porch enough for you to just make out a tiny figure barreling toward you. As you watched, a tiny dog approached at a run, its tongue lolling and its eyes bulging with excitement. 

“Well hey there!” Speaking in a low voice, you sat right back down on the step, holding a hand out to the dog. It came forward willingly, sniffing your fingers for a moment while it's tail waggled furiously. “Where'd you come from?” 

Of course the dog had no answer to your question. But she seemed perfectly content to let you scratch behind her ears and rub her belly as she flopped to the ground beside you, panting. 

An instant later, more footsteps, undeniably human this time, crunched toward you. You glanced up, your fingers clamping down on the dog’s tiny body as you tensed slightly. She squirmed, but her tail wagged even more happily. 

A tiny dot of light illuminated the spot of night where the footsteps originated. You watched, your heart beginning to pound, as whoever it was slowed to a walk and approached very, very slowly. 

“Didn't realize you were a night owl.” 

You let out a breath, but caught it again just as quickly. His voice was so unlike the one you remembered, but the sight of his face, illuminated by the slow burn of a cigarette as he lifted the stick to his lips and took a drag, shook you to your core. “Don't think I've seen you out here before.” 

You quirked an eyebrow, but he didn’t elaborate. So you said the first thing that came to mind. “She yours?” Nodding to the dog whose tail had started going a mile a minute as Robert approached. 

“Nah. Watching her. For a friend.” 

No more information seemed forthcoming. But the dog didn't seem inclined to go anywhere any time soon, so you simply kept petting her, smoothing her coat down repeatedly while she wriggled and wagged to her heart's content. There didn't seem to be much else to say. You gulped at your drink, more out of a sense that you needed to occupy yourself somehow than out of any desire for the burning taste of a drink you'd poured too strongly. 

Robert seemed content to stand silently as well. He leaned, uninvited, against the corner where the house met the garage, his cigarette dangling from his fingers between drags. You noticed that he'd positioned himself perfectly so that the smoke wouldn't be blown toward you in the night breeze. 

Considerate, and such an unfamiliar gesture. 

Part of you wished he would go away already, while the rest of you suddenly craved the smell of smoke in your face. 

And the taste of it on your tongue. 

Shaking yourself, you realized you'd been zoning out, while he'd stood quietly smoking on your driveway. He'd probably think you were some asshole, just ignoring him in the dark of night. 

Just as you drew breath to say. . . Something,  _ anything,  _ he pulled a pack of gum out of his pocket. With practiced ease, he pulled out a piece of gum, twisted the butt of his cigarette into the now-empty square of foil, pocketed the butt, and clicked his tongue at the dog. She obediently got up, leaving your hand empty and missing the touch of soft fur under your fingers, and trotted to Robert’s side. He turned to leave without a word, and you blinked. 

Only to be caught off guard as he called back softly through the night. 

“You coming on Saturday?” 

“Coming?” Confusion raced through you. “Coming where?” 

“The barbecue. Joseph said he was going to invite you.” 

You quickly backtracked mentally over the last several days. Someone  _ had  _ woken you from an extended nap by ringing the doorbell the other day, but they'd been gone by the time you got to the door. You'd never bothered finding out who it had been, and had spent the rest of that night absorbed in work and a bottle of vodka. 

“Oh, uh. Maybe.”

He was already at the end of the driveway, the dog trotting at his heels. He lifted a hand. “See ya Saturday.” 

You stared after him in bemusement. After a moment, you downed the rest of your drink. 

_ Guess I've got plans on Saturday.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if this is too self-promotion-y, but if anyone ever wants to see some of my other writing (or check out my commission information) you can find me
> 
> On DeviantArt: Lady-Mia
> 
> and on Tumblr: Once-upon-a-lyfetime


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You attend the infamous BBQ and meet the rest of the neighborhood. Drama happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, seriously, thank you so much for reading my fic! 
> 
> I've had nothing but positive experiences with writing this story, and I really, truly appreciate that so many of you are not only reading it, but enjoying it.
> 
> Thank you for letting me share this :)

The day of the barbecue came sooner than you would’ve liked. 

After your late-night rendezvous with Robert, you’d received another visit from Joseph, who officially invited you to the barbecue. Apparently it was some sort of tradition the neighbors had, and everyone on the cul-de-sac was expected to attend. 

Like some sort of sick hazing ritual. 

A hazing ritual where you had to parade for the whole neighborhood and let them judge whether or not you were nice and normal enough to be part of the Inner Ring. The first problem hit when you realized you had no idea what to wear. Were you supposed to go t-shirt-and-shorts-casual or jeans-and-button-up casual? You ended up going for a compromise and threw on one of your slightly nicer button-ups over a pair of cargo shorts. It didn’t look  _ terrible.  _

The next problem cropped up when you realized you hadn’t even thought about bringing anything. 

You spent a few frenzied minutes looking through the kitchen for  _ anything  _ suitable to bring to a neighborhood barbecue hosted by a local youth pastor. In a panic, you finally snatched up a bottle of wine you’d bought the other day and neglected to open yet. It would have to do. 

Why were you so awful at planning things in advance? 

Laughing at the irony of that thought, you left the house at 3:00 o'clock on the dot, knowing that it would take you 30 seconds to walk next door to the Christiansen home. As you approached the open gate leading into the backyard, you could already hear the commotion of voices and laughter. All the sounds of a group of friends enjoying themselves. 

You paused before going through the gate, taking a deep breath. You’d already given yourself a pep talk in the bathroom mirror, but now that you were feet away from a party full of strangers who all had happy families and idyllic lives, you weren’t sure you could pull it off. Suddenly you were terrified that you were sweating through your shirt, or that you’d say something stupid and offend someone accidentally. You had no clue why you’d agreed to do this.

Making small talk with strangers who were all bound to question your past was just too daunting a task. 

It wasn’t too late to go home and open the wine yourself. No one had seen you yet. 

Making up your mind felt  _ good.  _ Like you could almost go home guilt-free. You turned and--almost predictably at this point--found Robert standing behind you, leaning casually against the corner of the garage and putting out a cigarette. You jumped, letting out a squeak and pulling the bottle of wine close against your chest.

“Jesus! You have  _ got  _ to stop sneaking up on me!” 

You thought you saw the shadow of a smirk playing around Robert’s mouth, but he focused intensely on doing the fancy little cigarette-gum-wrapper twist for a long moment, so you couldn’t be sure. When he finally looked up at you, his face was that same, flat look, only his eyes showing even a hint of expression. Talking past the piece of gum, he jerked his chin toward you. “Thinking of bailing?”

“What? No!” You cringed even as you said it. 

_ Shit, now he knows you’re a coward.  _

“Too bad. C’mon.” Pushing himself away from the wall, he brushed past you, trailing the ever-present aroma of leather, smoke, and, added to it this time, spearmint. 

You had no choice but to follow him, the scent of smoke filling your nose and brain with images you’d rather not remember. 

The yard was quite literally  _ full  _ of people. You recognized Mat and Joseph of course, and, to your surprise and shock, Mary, the woman from the bar. A few of the kids looked familiar, likely from all the times you’d seen them racing around the neighborhood. You even recognized the man you frequently saw outside working on his lawn. He was definitely the kind of guy who spent hours maintaining his perfectly manicured lawn, just so he could then later brag about it.

There were plenty of faces you didn’t recognize, too. 

Trailing behind Robert, you stepped into the activity nearly deafened by your heart beating and the blood rushing in your ears. He pushed his way through the yard immediately, exchanging quiet greetings with most of everyone there. For a moment, you went unnoticed, everyone too distracted by Robert’s arrival to notice yours.

Then Joseph caught your eye, his face lighting up with a smile. “Hey, you made it!” He came toward you, and you met him halfway, holding out the bottle of wine. 

“Yeah, I totally made it. Uh, here. I wasn’t sure what else to bring.” 

Joseph laughed, accepting the bottle. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find a way to make use of this.” He threw a companionable arm around your shoulders. You flinched, shrinking away from him, but he seemed not to notice. Even as you cringed under his touch, he pulled you further into the crowd, calling people over to meet you. 

Names and faces passed you in a blur; you didn’t know how you were expected to remember all of them. Then Mat was there, taking your arm and pulling you out of the crowd and toward a table where far less people had gathered. You pulled your arm out of his grasp as soon as it seemed acceptable to do so, but he didn’t comment, instead smiling at you.

“You looked a little overwhelmed.” He said by way of explanation. “You drink?” 

His understanding shook you, and you nodded dumbly. He’d led you to the drinks table, where a vast array of beverages, both adult and kid-safe, had been arranged. Mat, at least, seemed to understand the struggle of being the lone stranger in a group of people who already knew each other, and you immediately reached for a nice-looking bottle of vodka and the Dr. Pepper. 

“Nice combo,” Mat commented dryly. 

You looked at him, trying to deadpan. “I started drinking at house parties, so sue me. I can’t help that the Dr. makes house calls.” 

He just laughed, slapped you on the shoulder, and disappeared into the crowd. He seemed so at ease with these people, while you could hardly stand to be  _ alone,  _ let alone surrounded by strangers. Clutching your drink in one hand, you drank a good portion of it in one go, hoping the alcohol would at least make you  _ fun,  _ if not super interesting. 

The rest of the group seemed to realize they’d made you uncomfortable. They didn’t swarm you again, instead coming up in ones and twos to make small talk. It was a lot of the same, introducing yourself over and over, and trying to dodge questions about why you’d moved and where you’d come from. Some of them made a point of introducing their kids to you, and it became painfully obvious to you that you were one of the only people there who didn’t have a kid with you. 

You remained uncomfortably aware of Robert in the corner of your vision the whole time, but he didn’t make a point to come over. 

After another drink--or two, maybe--you were finally beginning to loosen up. The latest in the string of men introducing themselves to you was none other than the man you’d seen jogging with his daughters your first day in the neighborhood, Craig. He seemed nice enough, if a little obsessed with fitness, and for once you didn’t mind listening to someone talk about their kids as you watched his youngest, River, giggle and coo in his arms. 

“She’s so adorable,” You had to comment, reaching out to River, who curled her tiny hand around your finger. Your heart swelled, and you felt your throat tighten with emotion as she cooed up at you from Craig’s arms.

“Do you wanna hold her?” 

Before you could reply, he’d dumped the baby into your arms. You pulled her close, looking down into her face while she babbled and shoved her fingers into her mouth. You touched your finger to her nose, watching her go cross-eyed as she tried to focus on it, and she giggled. “Oh my god, it’s been so long since I’ve held one this tiny.” 

“They grow up fast, don’t they?” Craig watched you cooing down at the baby in your arms, grinning. “Do you have any kids?” 

Tears suddenly welled in your eyes. You coughed, pretending there was something tickling your throat. “Yes. I mean, uh, no. I . . .” Staring desperately away from him, hoping he wouldn’t notice your sudden panic, you kept stammering. “I mean, it’s . . . a little complicated. Kind of a long story.” 

The man seemed to understand. Or at least, he seemed to understand that it was difficult for you to talk about. With a gentle smile on his face, he squeezed your arm. These people were so  _ touchy _ . “No worries. She seems happy, why don’t you hold her for a little bit? I’ll be right back.” He disappeared back into the group of people, leaving you alone with his tiny daughter in your arms and tears still threatening to spill. 

The little girl cooed and babbled at you as you slowly regained your composure. After a few minutes, you’d mostly gotten ahold of yourself, sitting down on one of the available chairs and letting the baby grab at your hair and shirt, really anything she could get ahold of. 

_ Way to kill the mood, fucker.  _

Now that the more extreme emotions had passed, nothing but admonishment remained. Nearly crying at a barbecue while holding a near stranger’s baby was  _ not  _ the way to make friends. You'd be lucky if they ever invited you to another event. 

Craig had disappeared into the crowd, and though you didn't mind holding River in the slightest, she was starting to get fussy. Probably since her dad had left her in the arms of an emotional stranger. You finally glanced up again at the rest of the party, all of whom seemed content to let you sit by yourself. None of them seemed to notice that you were now holding a fussy baby, whose dad was nowhere to be seen. 

River began to cry in earnest, screwing her tiny face up tight and wailing. You tried everything you could think of, bouncing her, rocking her, whispering gently to her to try and reassure her. All the time you looked for Craig, but he didn't appear, and River didn't stop crying. 

Some of the others began to take notice, though. You saw Joseph start in your direction, but before he could get more than a few paces, Robert was in front of you, swooping in to take the bawling baby out of your arms. You stared in astonishment as he held the baby with practiced ease, crooning to her in a soft voice and letting her snatch at the zipper of his jacket and his sunglasses. Even the threat of baby fingerprints on the reflective lenses of his shades didn't seem to put him off. 

River calmed after only a few moments, reverting back to her happy, babbling self. 

You couldn't stop staring, the picture of Robert holding a happy baby, a gentle expression on his face, dominating your vision  _ and  _ your thoughts. Craig appeared a moment later, but you hardly noticed. The tears that had been threatening to fall earlier had returned, and this time you knew there was nothing you could do to stop them. You ducked your head, really hoping that none of the others had noticed, and slipped away toward the open gate again, taking in deep breaths as you fought to contain yourself until you were well away. No one noticed your retreat, or if they did, they didn't comment. 

You got away Scott-free. Or so you'd thought. 

Just as you reached the end of Joseph’s driveway, a hand grasped your arm. 

You yelled, unable to stop yourself, the roiling emotions and sudden jolt of contact combining into a shout and a cringe as you turned to face whoever it was who'd grabbed you. Trying to yank out of his grip, you looked up into Robert’s face, your heart racing in that old, familiar fear response. 

“Don't  _ fucking  _ touch me!” You didn't yell it, but the power behind your voice must have startled him. He let go of your arm at once, backing up and putting both hands up in the universal “no intent to harm” signal. 

His response startled you just as much as you seemed to have startled him. 

For a moment you both simply stared at one another. He searched your face, and you frantically sought  _ some _ sort of reaction to have. You couldn't remember the last time someone had actually listened to you when you asked not to be touched. The sadness, the fear, all of it had been dampened under this new feeling: confusion and a deep pain that reached so far inside you that you thought you might break. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Yeah, sure.” The words came out of habit. “Fine.” 

He didn't say anything more as you turned and walked quickly across your lawn and to your front door, the tears finally spilling as you reached the safety and anonymity of your own home. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the BBQ, you lapse into a depressive state and drink all your booze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: Even though this fic *is* tagged with alcohol use/abuse, I'd like to mention it again. Dadsona goes pretty hard in this chapter. 
> 
> Second things second: Dudes, seriously, 2,000 hits!! 
> 
> Thank you guys so much. Thank you for reading, thank you for your lovely comments, thank you for giving me the opportunity to share a little bit of myself with you a few times a week :)

The rest of your day passed in a blur of vodka, frozen pizza, and tears. You didn't bother counting drinks, didn't bother mixing half of them, just drank until you'd stopped crying and shaking and then drank some more. 

You had  _ known  _ the barbecue would be a bad idea. You hadn't felt ready or capable of handling such a crowd. But even  _ you _ hadn't been able to predict that someone would shove a baby girl into your arms, bringing all the painful memories you didn't want to think about crashing back in a thunderstorm of emotion. 

You never should have gone. 

The clock you'd bought and hung in the kitchen ticked the hours away slowly--measuring your life in shots--as you lay on the couch staring at nothing. Not like you had a tv to watch, and somehow reading didn't sound all that appealing. You didn't have the attention span for it. You could barely keep your own thoughts in your hole-filled mind, let alone the written thoughts of someone else. 

It grew dark--not that you really noticed with the curtains drawn--and the wall clock ticked past 9pm. 11pm. 2am. You moved only to pour more drinks, and occasionally to flop to the floor and stare at the carpet, the only thing you could see from that angle. 

Once, you thought you heard someone knocking at the front door, but you ignored it. You didn't want to face  _ anyone  _ right now. Not after making such a fool of yourself. 

By 2am, you were out of vodka and blinking blearily in the overhead light. Did you dare step outside to find a liquor store? Did you  _ want  _ more booze, or did you want to sleep? 

Sleep would invite dreams. 

A shudder crawled down your spine, and you hefted yourself to your feet, swaying wearily and blinking. You rubbed your eyes, wondering if you looked as rough as you felt. Probably. You didn't care. You barely even bothered to throw on a pair of shoes before you went outside. 

It was dark outside, and quiet, and peaceful. Such a heavy contrast to what was going on  _ inside.  _ Throwing your head back as you hit the sidewalk, you filled your lungs with the sweet smell of summer night air and peered up at the stars. 

No one else was awake or out. No one else existed in the world. 

Or maybe  _ you _ didn't exist _.  _

That was an oddly comforting thought. You were a ghost, flitting through the night-darkened streets as a phantom. A phantom in pursuit of booze. 

You didn't even know where a liquor store was. 

You walked for close to ten minutes, the cool air and night breeze soothing your stiff muscles and your tired face. The walking seemed to help, getting your blood moving and the alcohol circulating more quickly. You were nearly sobering up. 

_ That  _ wouldn't do. 

But no bartender in their right mind would serve you, so you had to find the liquor store. 

By some miracle, or by sheer, dumb luck, you found your way to the empty parking lot and glowing windows of a liquor store several minutes later. Drawn to the light, you approached and stepped inside. You barely noticed the clerk, bee-lining right for the shelf of vodka. Your favored brand was on  _ sale.  _

You whispered a silent thanks to the patron saint of vodka, snagging a bottle and immediately heading toward the bored clerk. 

He scanned the bottle and read your price from the computer in a bored drawl. You patted your pockets. You searched both your empty hands. You checked the lower pockets in your cargo shorts that you never carried anything in. 

Where the hell was your  _ wallet?  _

You patted your pockets again, but by this time he was clearly getting impatient. 

“Shit, I uh--sorry, I must’ve--” You didn’t even know what to say. What kind of  _ idiot  _ left their wallet at home when they went out for booze? 

“Here,” Someone pushed you out of the way--not hard, just enough to get past you to the counter--and the smell of smoke and whiskey assaulted you. He pushed money at the clerk, who moodily bagged the bottle, and then he snagged the bag and pushed you out the door all in one movement. You went along with it, still patting your pockets hopelessly, not quite able to believe you’d actually left your wallet behind. 

Outside, Robert’s touch left the middle of your back almost instantly, and he stepped away, holding your bag and his own bottle now. You turned to look at him, blinking to make out his face in the half-light of the area just outside the liquor store. “Thanks.” You didn’t know what else to say. He’d just bought your alcohol, he was practically a  _ god _ . “Can I--” you reached for the bag, but he held it out of your reach.

“Nope. C’mon. I’m going home, and I  _ know  _ you’re going my way.” 

It wasn’t exactly an order, but he glared at you with a meaningful expression on his face before turning and beginning to walk back toward the cul-de-sac. Mentally objecting to being told what to do, you nonetheless followed him. He had your vodka, after all. He led the way quietly, until you managed to catch up to him. Then you walked side by side, you still swaying slightly, him swigging occasionally from the paper bag he held in his left hand. The vodka was in his right, too far for you to reach around him and get it. 

The walk home seemed to take twice as long. Possibly because you were finally beginning to sober up a bit, possibly because you were walking side by side with a man who, just the previous afternoon, had nearly seen you cry. The longer you walked, the more you began to feel too sober. Why had he taken your vodka hostage? 

You took a breath, about to ask again if you could have your booze. 

He interrupted you, turning to glance at you as he took another swig from his own drink. “You’re a chatty drunk.” 

Affronted, you huffed. “I haven’t said a  _ thing.”  _

“No, but you were about to. I don’t do small talk, and I  _ absolutely  _ don’t do  _ drunk  _ small talk. Just. . . keep walking. We’re almost there.” He still didn’t sound or look angry, that same even, blank expression on his face. He should play poker.

“You should play poker.” 

He snorted. 

When you reached the cul-de-sac, he finally spoke again, stopping at the end of your driveway. “You gonna be okay for the night, or you want me to come inside?” 

The thought of inviting the man into your home made your stomach lurch. No. You could let him buy your booze, you could walk in silence beside him through the darkness of night. But you couldn’t let him pass the threshold of your home. Your sanctuary. You just  _ couldn’t.  _

“I’ll be alright. Thanks for carrying my vodka?” You reached for the bag again, but again, he took a step back, holding it further out of your reach. You stared, confused.

“Oh, no. This is  _ mine. I  _ paid for it, remember?” 

“What?  _ Seriously?”  _

_ What an absolute douchecanoe!  _

You stood for a long minute, glaring at the man. He stared right back, a silent challenge in his eyes. Something about the look on his face made you narrow your eyes. Was he . . . messing with you?

“I can pay you back, you know.” You tested the waters, watching his face for any change. 

He sighed. “How ‘bout we figure that out tomorrow? You look like you could sleep for a couple days.” 

He wasn’t  _ wrong.  _

Before you could find any words for a response, he’d stepped a little closer again, crowding you. But he didn’t touch you. He simply looked you in the face.

You shrank back a touch. He smelled of smoke and whiskey and . . . fruit? Wine?? 

“Have you been drinking this whole time?” 

The question caught you off guard. 

“Uh, since . . .” You tried to remember, screwing your face up. “Since right after the barbecue, I think?” 

He sighed again. “If you  _ really  _ want this,” He shook the bag slightly, drawing your attention back down to the bottle for an instant before you brought your eyes right back up to his face. He was too close, the soft scent of smoke consuming you. “Then you can have it. But I’m not letting you kill yourself by drinking a bottle of vodka alone and choking or something.”

You had to admit he had a point. 

You lowered your eyes, finally admitting defeat. “You’re probably right.” 

It killed you to say it. 

Suddenly, you felt the bag pressed into your arms. “Take care of yourself.” He met your eyes, grasping your hand and the handle of the bag all at once for an instant before letting you go and turning to walk back to his house. 

What the  _ fuck  _ had  _ that  _ been about? 

You went back inside, locking the door behind you. Looking down at the bottle, you slowly set it on the coffee table and went to get ready for bed. 

When you finally fell into bed, you realized he’d been right. What the fuck were you doing, drinking yourself into a coma because, what, you’d seen a baby and it had made you sad? 

_ You’re fucking better than that, you pathetic ass.  _


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a rough night, you try to make your apologies for acting so stupid.

You woke to a killer headache and the idea that you’d managed to humiliate yourself not once, but  _ twice  _ in the span of about twelve hours. 

_ Jesus. Nice going, guy. Way to make a good first impression.  _

You sat in bed for a long minute, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes. The pressure helped to relieve some of the ache in your head, but not a lot. Only water, painkiller, and rest would help that.

_ Or booze. _

The treacherous thought was what prompted you to get up. 

You forced yourself to take a shower, only pausing to vomit once.

_ Way to go! You’re only a  _ little bit  _ pathetic and hung over.  _

After the shower, you went to the kitchen and drank about three glasses of water, using one of them to force down a handful of painkiller. You found some leftover pizza and managed to keep down half a slice.

That wasn’t even the hard part of your day, either. 

You needed to go apologize for ditching Joseph’s barbecue and pay Robert back for the vodka. Hell, you’d just  _ give it to him  _ if you didn’t think he’d turn around and drink the whole thing just like he’d tried to keep you from doing. 

First things first: Coffee. 

Your trip to the coffee shop went mostly well. Mat didn’t comment on how rough you must’ve looked, just served you a black coffee with a grin. He even apologized to you, seeming to show regret for ditching you in a crowd of strangers. 

You told him, truthfully, that his presence probably wouldn’t have helped. And you made sure to apologize for making things uncomfortable. He waved your apology away, and you left the shop feeling as though these people were nearly  _ too  _ understanding and forgiving. 

And  _ much less  _ sick to your stomach after the coffee. 

Your next stop, after a slow walk back to the cul-de-sac, was Joseph’s place. It was his barbecue you’d ditched out on, after all. 

When you rang the doorbell, you were surprised to find Mary at the door. She looked you up and down while you stammared. 

“What?” 

“You live here?” 

The woman rolled her eyes. “You must’ve missed that part of the introductions. Joseph is my darling husband.” A pair of blonde children peered under her arm at you. “And these are two of our lovely children.” 

That made things . . . weird. Hadn’t this woman just propositioned you the other night? 

Shaking yourself, you pulled yourself together with difficulty. “I guess half my apology should go to you, then.” She watched impartially as you shifted your weight. “I’m sorry I left so early. Something, uh . . . something came up.”  

The woman waved a hand. “It didn’t make a difference to  _ me.”  _

“Oh.” You paused for a moment, wondering if that was it. When she didn’t seem inclined to say more, you half-shrugged. “Is Joseph home?” 

Mary didn’t even bother responding, just stepped away from the door and yelled for her husband. She left you standing awkwardly on the doorstep, her two children (twins?) still standing and watching you silently. They had the Creepy Twin Schtick down  _ pat.  _

“Hey, guys.” You waved slightly. They said nothing. Now that was commitment. 

Joseph appeared only a few moments later, finding you engaged in talking to his twins. They didn’t say much, but you’d discovered that if you asked them to say something in unison, they did. Joseph appeared behind them just as you’d gotten them to say the classic “Come play with us,” 

It probably wasn’t kosher, to mess with the guy’s kids like that, but he just laughed as he came up behind them. “Give it a rest, kids.” He shook his head, his grin betraying his amusement. “Come on, go play or something.” 

They disappeared at once, giggles echoing after them. 

“Hey,” Joseph stepped outside, pulling the door mostly closed behind him. “I hope everything’s been okay. Craig said something came up so you had to leave suddenly.”

Damn. Good guy, Craig. 

“Ah, yeah.” You looked up into Joseph’s face, seeing the kind of genuine concern you thought you’d probably only ever get from a Church Man. Rubbing the back of your neck, you lowered your eyes, finding it hard to look him in the eye for long. “I’m really sorry I had to ditch out like that. I mean, I was hoping I’d get to make a good impression on . . . on you, and all the neighbors. It’s just--”

Joseph held up a hand, stopping you suddenly. You tapered off, knowing that your thought hadn’t been all that comprehensive anyway. “Look,” He spoke gently, his eyes softening as he met your gaze. “You don’t owe me, or  _ anyone,  _ an explanation.” His words held a power that kept you transfixed on his face. “You seem like a really nice kid, and we’re glad to have you in the neighborhood. I hope, if you’re in any kind of trouble or need anything at all, you’ll come to me. I’ll do--” He paused, clearing his throat. “Any of us would, really, do anything they can to help out. Okay?” 

His little speech had pushed a lump up into your throat. You coughed, turning away for a moment to compose yourself. You’d done all together too much crying in the last two days. “You don’t even know me.” It was all you could think to say, still marveling at the idea that these nice, normal people would be so willing to help you out. 

“No, but we’d like to.” His face lit up in a grin, and you matched his smile, your heart swelling with hope. Hope that, maybe, possibly, these people might actually learn to like you and want you to be around. “Let me know if you’re ever feeling up for another barbecue. We can start slow, okay? Whatever you’re comfortable with.” 

“Deal.” You pushed a hand out, feeling it  was the right thing to do. He took your hand to shake it, his eyes meeting yours in a kind of unspoken understanding. This man was someone you could go to if you ever needed something, and he would accept you without judgement or condemnation. 

He was a credit to his church. 

You told him so.

He laughed, and thanked you.

You left your interaction with Joseph feeling even lighter, your heart still filled with the hope that, maybe, you’d found some friends in this strange new town of yours.

Of course, the hardest part of your day was coming.

You still needed to stop by Robert’s place and navigate a conversation with him. Hopefully you’d be able to get in and out quickly. Briefly, you considered just shoving a twenty under his door and hoping he got the message. 

That was before you turned the corner of Joseph’s house and found Robert, as was typical, standing on his porch and having a smoke. You’d have to talk to him, then. 

He watched impassively as you approached, carefully avoiding stepping on his lawn by picking your way up the driveway, past his beat up pick-up truck. He didn’t even move, just watched in between drags of his cigarette as you came closer.

Finally, as you made it up to the porch, he shifted position, automatically turning so that the smoke from his cigarette wouldn’t be blown toward you while you talked. 

_ Fuck, man, he does it like it’s not even a big deal.  _

You stared at him for a moment, transfixed by the delicate line of smoke swirling up from the end of his cigarette as he huffed on it. Then you shook yourself, realizing your mind had been drifting. You’d rather not think too hard about  _ where  _ it had drifted. Instead, you pulled your wallet out of your pocket and yanked out a twenty. 

“For the vodka,” you explained as you saw Robert’s eyebrow quirk. 

“Keep it.” Dropping the hand that held the cigarette back down to his side, he released a stream of smoke, turning automatically to make sure none of it drifted in your direction. Why did he have to be  _ so damn considerate?  _  “You can always just buy me a drink.” 

This was the second time he’d brought up the idea that the two of you would ever be in the same space long enough for one of you to buy the other a drink. You cocked your head, watching him from across his patio. Why did he seem so sure that that scenario would play out? 

He didn’t bother meeting your eyes, focusing on a point somewhere out in the neighborhood. 

“Yeah?” You asked, breaking the short silence. “And when, exactly, would I do that?” 

He shrugged and lifted the cigarette back to his mouth. You followed its progress with your eyes, watching as his chest lifted with the heavy breath he took in, entranced. “I dunno,” He released the smoke as he spoke, finally turning his attention back to you. “Tonight?” 

_ What?  _

You blinked, confused. “I thought you were Mr. “Don’t get too drunk and die.” Why the sudden change?” 

He tipped his head, giving you that sideways glare he had perfected. “That’s Mr. “Don’t drink  _ alone  _ and die,” to you.” 

“Ah, right. So the only distinction is that I wouldn’t be alone.” You chewed your lip, bemused. This was  _ not  _ the direction you had expected the conversation to take. “Are you suggesting that I wouldn’t drink enough to die if I’m with you, or that, by the simple act of not being alone I would be safe from dying?” 

He just snorted and shook his head, tapping the ash off his cigarette before taking another drag. 

You felt yourself grinning despite your misgivings. “Alright, then. Tonight.” You glanced up, knowing that it had already been quite late by the time you left your home earlier to get coffee. “I guess I’ll see you later.” 

He didn’t respond, but you saw his lips twist into what might have passed for a smirk. Which, you were beginning to understand, was as good as an ear-to-ear grin on Robert.

He wasn’t exactly very expressive.

You left him on his porch still smoking, utterly befuddled by the conversation you’d just had. How on  _ earth  _ had it ended in him inviting you out to drink? 

More importantly, what in the ever-living- _ fuck  _ had compelled you to accept the invitation?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could this be *gasp* DATE NUMBER ONE???
> 
> Stay tuned to find out!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date Number One!!!
> 
> You grab a few drinks with Robert and Mary, and get to know them both a little bit more.
> 
> Fun times are had by all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little off my updating schedule this week, but don't think I forgot about you guys! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, thanks for nearly 3k hits?? and other various, nice-sounding things. 
> 
> Y'all are wonderful readers.

_ Why. The fuck. Are you so. Fucking. Stupid?  _

You couldn’t stop the steady stream of vitriol from your own mind. You’d just proven, no more than twenty-four hours previously, that you were an absolute fuck-up in social situations. Why on  _ earth  _ had you decided that going out to have a drink with the very man you’d been struggling to avoid since moving would be a good idea? You stared at yourself in the cracked and dirty mirror in the bar restroom, wondering if it might be better for you to just make up an excuse and go home. You had that bottle of vodka, after all, and tomorrow  _ was  _ a work day. 

You let out a sigh, bending your head down for an instant before you straightened, determined. You were a goddamn adult and you were  _ going  _ to have a  _ successful  _ social interaction. 

Clenching your fists, you stepped out of the restroom and headed back to the seat you’d found at the bar. As you approached, you saw that Robert had arrived and was sitting with none other than Mary. Joseph’s Mary. The Mary who had fathered Joseph’s children and was currently married to him. 

You weren’t one to judge, and, as you approached and saw an honest-to-god  _ smile  _ cross Robert’s face, you realized you really weren’t in a  _ position  _ to judge. Mary’s relationship with Joseph was something you’d never even  _ seen  _ before, and, you had to admit, you weren’t exactly in a position to be judging  _ anyone’s  _ relationships. 

Those thoughts crossed your mind in a flash, disappearing within the time it took you to approach the bar. You watched them even as you caught the bartender’s attention. There was an intimacy to their interactions that you couldn’t fathom. Something between them that meant they were both totally at ease in one another’s company. 

You ached to feel that sort of intimacy with someone, even as you knew that it was impossible. 

_ You’re losing it, asshole. Focus!  _

You snapped back to attention, turning away from Robert and Mary long enough to order a round. The bartender knew  _ exactly  _ what Robert’s usual was, so you just ordered three of those. When the drinks came, you carried them carefully to the booth where Mary was telling an apparently hilarious story. 

You slid, uninvited, into the booth opposite Robert and Mary. They greeted you in tandem, and you looked at them askance, not really sure what to make of the knowledge that they were friends. Close friends, by the look of it. 

“So anyway,” Mary reached for one of the glasses as you pushed them over to their side of the table, taking a sip without breaking stride in her story. “There he is, buck naked in the living room. And I’m thinking, crap, I’ve got  _ kids  _ in the house.” 

You watched their faces as Mary told her story, about how some douchey frat-bro had walked her home from the bar and then asked to use her bathroom, only to then strip naked while she was out of the room. You sipped your own drink quietly, adjusting to the flavor of whiskey--not your usual choice, but it was nice. It didn’t burn as badly as the shitty vodka you’d been drinking the night before. 

Finally, Mary ended her story, and you laughed as she described throwing the guy out before he’d even had a chance to gather up his things. She’d apparently burned them the next day. “Damn, Mary.” You choked down the rest of your laughter. “You’re  _ seriously  _ cold.” 

She nearly looked like she’d blushed--or was that just a trick of the light? “I mean, I try.” 

Beside her, Robert finally took a sip of his own drink, apparently forgotten as he’d listened to Mary talk. He hummed appreciatively, casting a glance in your direction. “Are you trying to whiskey me off my feet?” 

Now it was your time to blush. 

_ What in the . . .?  _

You had no clue what to make of that, so you went with the easiest response. You groaned and rolled your eyes at the pun, sipping your own drink to hide anything else that may have wanted to show on your face. 

Was he . . . flirting with you?

_ Fuck, no! No, no no!  _

Even as you felt your heartbeat beginning to speed up, you were fighting the response. It was ridiculous, of  _ course  _ that wasn’t what he was doing. You were just overreacting to a perfectly normal thing. 

_ You don’t need to panic any time he looks your way, coward.  _

Easier said than done. 

You downed the rest of your drink, not at all surprised when Mary and Robert did the same. What did catch you off guard was when they both stood up. Robert threw on his jacket, while Mary quickly adjusted her dress. It looked like they were preparing to leave. 

“C’mon then,” Mary gestured impatiently. “What, you think we’re gonna stay here all night sipping red wine? We’re not  _ that  _ old yet.” 

Bar hopping? At  _ your  _ ages? You hesitated for a moment, and then shrugged, standing up and following them outside. You didn’t have anything going on for the rest of the night. 

Still, a huge part of you was aching to go back home and fall into bed. This part of you was only encouraged when Robert lit up a cigarette as the three of you walked in amicable silence through the night. The smell of smoke became overpowering. Your heart began to race again, and you could feel yourself sweating. Suddenly running away into the night seemed like an  _ excellent  _ idea. 

Unfortunately, your companions herded you into another bar right then. You barely saw Robert do his clever gum wrapper trick, but the sudden addition of spearmint to his usual smokey, whiskey-y musk told you he must have done it. 

_ Damn  _ was he smooth. 

Robert tipped you a look as you entered the bar just behind him. It was a look that said “you still owe me.” You supposed he was correct. That didn't prevent you grumbling a bit as you went to the bar and ordered another round of whiskey for the three of you. You didn't owe Mary. If anything,  _ she  _ owed  _ you.  _

By the time you had made your way back to them, Mary had already conned a drink out of a younger dude who looked like he'd paid it as a toll. The Mary Tax: one drink for the pleasure of seeing her leave. 

You smothered a laugh. 

_ No need to be rude.  _

As you sat, Mary sipped the drink and eyed you closely. You took her scrutiny in stride, pushing a glass to Robert and keeping two for yourself. The Mary Tax meant more whiskey for you. 

“So are you a nutjob, or what?” 

You nearly choked on the whiskey, the fiery liquid burning it's way down your throat as you coughed until your eyes watered. She was way more than forward, you decided. She was heartless. A stone-cold bitch. She watched with both eyebrows raised until you'd stopped coughing. 

Gasping for breath, you shot a look at Robert. He pretended to ignore you. 

“Uh.” You had no clue what to say. “No?” 

“That's it? No explanation for all the whacko things you did yesterday?” She looked at you like she was disappointed that you'd hold out on her like that.

_ Oh, there's an explanation alright. He's about 6’2 and looks exactly like the man sitting right beside you.  _

You sucked in a deep breath, then shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint. I'm just an ordinary asshole who sometimes stresses out too much at barbecues.” 

_ Good, don't give them any more ammo.  _

Mary clicked her tongue, rolling her eyes. “Damn, I was hoping for something juicy.” 

Apparently bored, she downed her drink and stood up. She was gone before you could protest, leaving you in the silent company of Robert. 

He hadn't said much all night. 

You weren't sure he'd said much his whole life. 

Silence fell. You sipped your drink again, safe now that Mary wasn't around to make you choke. You looked at the other people in the bar, wondering if any of them could match you for most bizarre couple of weeks. You looked at your glass, swirling the amber liquid around before swallowing it in one go and grimacing. 

Finally, you looked at Robert, hating the way your throat tightened and your stomach flipped every time you saw him. 

You met his eye, trapped under the power of his gaze for a fraction of a second. For a wild moment you were back at the bar that first night, gasping for breath and fighting the urge to run away. The urge was still there tonight--there in the way your body tingled with adrenaline and your lungs froze any time you met his gaze. But there was also the desire to stay. To prove to yourself that you were stronger than the instinct to flee. 

Right now, as he gazed evenly at you, you thought the instinct to flee might win after all. 

“It's not often,” he broke the silence suddenly, only to pause as he sipped his drink. “That you find someone who's okay with silence. So many people feel like they have to fill it with meaningless chatter.” 

What was he talking about? You  _ hated _ silence. When the world was silent, that was when your mind was loudest. It was why you so frequently had music playing from your laptop when you worked at home. Why you sought out coffee shops to work in when the stillness of an empty house became too much. Why you had been perfectly content saying nothing while the activity of the bar went on around you. 

You threw back the second drink--the one originally meant for Mary. Now you were 3/2, in his favor. 

Meeting his eye, you forced words to come out. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but you're wrong. The only reason I don't talk much is because I live in constant, debilitating fear of saying the wrong thing and upsetting someone.” Now that you'd spoken, it seemed like a good idea to keep going. “I kind of hate silence. There's just...too much going on in my head to be comfortable when it's too damn quiet.” He blinked, and you inwardly cringed. It was too much honesty. 

As you fought the sudden, deafening ringing in your ears as your brain became convinced of what your body already knew--Danger! Danger! Run away!--he copied your movement and finished his drink. Slamming the glass down, he looked across the table at you. 

“I don't think it matters how much is going on in your head; it's what you actually say that makes a difference. And besides. Maybe I can handle a little less silence.” He paused, drawing his eyebrows down thoughtfully. “Every now and then.” 

You laughed. You couldn't help it. It was too absurd, this man offering to let you speak your mind with him. Offering to let you trust him. 

Mary suddenly appeared again, apparently having grown tired of the other men in the bar. With a look in your direction, both eyebrows raised, Robert invited your thoughts. 

_ Oh, what the hell.  _

The three of you left to find another bar. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to leave me nice comments ;)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You fall into a sort of pattern with Robert, and have a fun conversation with him in the middle of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I admit it. This is kinda filler, but it's still sorta crucial, so . . . *shrug*
> 
> Thanks for reading, dudes, I love you <3

As you found your routine, settling in after such a drastic change of scenery, you found yourself seeing more and more of Robert. That night of bar hopping with him and Mary had been a kind of turning point. Now, once or twice a week you wandered down to the bar and, if you saw Robert there, you bought him a drink, he bought you a drink, and then you went your separate ways. Sometimes, when you’d gone down to the coffee shop to do your work, you saw him across the room and waved. He never waved back, but he’d lift his mug at you in greeting. 

Other times, when you couldn’t sleep, you would sit outside on your porch with a drink--the Vodka he’d bought you lasted a good long while, and you thought of him every time you poured yourself a drink. On those nights, you occasionally caught him on the tail end of a walk with the boston terrier he was “watching for a friend.” 

Those were your favorite nights, because the terrier (Betsy, you eventually learned)  _ always  _ dragged Robert over to you so you could pet her. She seemed to have taken a liking to you, and so, at least once a week, you got to rub the dog’s belly while she waggled her tail and Robert stood quietly to one side and finished a cigarette. Sometimes you and he would exchange a few quiet words. You’d taken his opinion into account, and you only broke the silence when you had something especially pressing you wanted to say or after he’d already broken it. 

It was on one such night that you realized that, somehow, over a handful of weeks, you and he had become friends. 

You’d gone outside on a whim, feeling too wound up to sleep after finishing an especially pressing piece, one that had given you a lot of trouble. You’d poured a drink and stepped outside into the cool night air, sitting on the porch step as you always did. 

You had only just sat down when Robert and Betsy came around the corner. As always, you saw the tiny speck of light from Robert’s cigarette and heard the jingle of Betsy’s collar long before you saw either of them through the darkness. Betsy seemed to sense your presence though; you heard her already quick steps speed up, and soon Robert was jogging to catch up with the dog as she strained against the lead. Finally, he just dropped it, and the dog sprinted toward you, her tongue lolling. 

You laughed, welcoming her as she jumped into your lap, and then out of it, and then back into it, so happy at the prospect of being petted that she wouldn’t stay still enough for you to pet her. Robert followed her at a more leisurely pace, stopping, as he always did, at the corner of your garage, somehow always keeping himself angled so that smoke wouldn’t blow in your direction.

You looked up from the squirming dog long enough to catch him taking a drag of his cigarette, the light of the ember illuminating his face just enough for you to make out the sharp angles of his features. You caught your breath, as you always did at the sight of him with a cigarette in his mouth. And, just as you had the first time you’d seen him smoke a cigarette, you had to fight back the craving to get up and stand near him. To smell the smoke in your face, and to taste it on your tongue. 

This time, you actually did stand up, giving in to temptation. Betsy jumped at you for a moment, demanding attention, before giving up and trotting back over to Robert. Pouting, you thought. 

You ignored the dog for the most part, focusing instead on Robert’s face as you stepped away from your porch and moved to lean against the wall with him. He didn’t react other than to lower the cigarette to his side, letting out a puff of smoke in a cough. Had you caught him off guard? 

Standing this close to him, the heady smell of smoke seemed to consume you, surrounding you. Even just the smell of it went right to your head, buzzing through you more than the shot you’d done earlier. You took a deep breath, inhaling the mixed scents of smoke and leather and whiskey, all the same smells that sent your mind spiraling into an abyss. As you let the breath out, you let yourself relax against the wall, finding strength in the firm structure behind you. 

“You smoke?” He asked, just before taking another drag. 

You shook your head, turning to look out at the darkened cul-de-sac. You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to how quiet the street was at night. No couples screaming at each other, no dogs barking, not even any babies crying. “Not personally. Never had a problem with it, though.” That was putting it lightly, but it didn’t feel like a lie. 

Neither of you spoke for a long minute. Betsy scratched at her collar, the only sound in the otherwise silent street. 

You drew breath to speak, but he interrupted before you could. He had a knack for that. 

“There’s been some speculation about you lately.” 

Your breath left you in a laugh, and you turned to look up at him. “I’m not surprised.” You would have been surprised if they  _ weren’t  _ talking about you. It wasn’t like you’d gone out of your way to be super open and friendly and share all the details about your past with them. There were bound to be some questions. “Anything I should be worried about?” 

He shrugged. “My current favorite theory is that you’re either a war hero or a war criminal running from, respectively, the family you left behind or justice.” 

You snorted out a laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Mary?” It sounded like something she’d  come up with. 

“Surprisingly, no. Hugo. He’s got a . . . romantic imagination. He’s convinced it’s gotta be something big and dramatic.” 

Rolling your eyes, you turned to look back out at the dark street. Of course the neighbors would speculate. It was pretty damn obvious that you hadn’t been upfront about your past, so it was natural for them to be curious.

Still, you weren’t totally comfortable with the idea of people discussing your past so . . . candidly. “I hate to disappoint . . .” You started, shifting your weight and taking another sip of your drink for courage. “But it’s really not all that . . . exciting.” 

The drink wasn’t helping much; your heart was beginning to pound, your body tingling with that old, familiar instinct to run away. He turned to look at you, pushing his shoulder up against the wall and letting his cigarette dangle by his side. He was . . . listening. Actually, actively listening.

You couldn’t quite bring yourself to look at him. Sucking in a deep breath, you wrapped both hands tight around your cup, finding it centering to grip something. “Can we . . . not talk about this?” You cringed even as you said the words, shrinking away from him and into yourself, pulling your arms tight against your torso for protection. 

“Of course.” He said it so matter-of-factly that you flinched before you could fully process what he’d said. “You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to. But,” He paused until you’d looked up at him, still not quite uncurled from your defensive position. “The neighbors . . . they’re good people. Try not to worry about the rumors, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Neither of you spoke again for several minutes. You stood against the wall together, him finishing the cigarette and you finishing your drink. He left when he’d finished smoking, clicking his tongue at Betsy and raising one hand in a lazy wave as he turned away. When he’d gone, you stayed outside for a while longer, still nursing the drink and just . . . thinking. 

It was kind of jarring to have proof that the neighbors were gossiping about you. Of course you couldn’t blame them, but it felt . .  . weird, to know that they were discussing you behind your back. 

Maybe it would be good to tell someone. 

You didn’t sleep much that night, your mind too wrapped up in the idea that, against all odds, Robert was the one you most wanted to tell. You tossed and turned for most of the night, trying to come to some sort of decision. 

Just as the gray light of dawn was beginning to sneak in under the curtains, you came to a conclusion. It was time to open up a little bit. 

What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want your own Dream Daddy fic, keep in mind that I'm still accepting commissions! 
> 
> Find me on DeviantArt: https://lady-mia.deviantart.com/


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've forgotten how hard it can be to find Robert when you need to.
> 
> So you have a nice conversation with Mat, instead.
> 
> Drama happens, promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been getting so many lovely comments from you guys, it's so nice. 
> 
> I'm still having a lot of fun writing this too, I hope I can keep up with the two chapters a week update schedule, but I'm afraid I'm eventually going to fall behind. I hope you guys will bear with me if/when that happens.
> 
> Until then, enjoy ;)

_ What  _ could  _ go wrong, asshat?  _

As it turned out, what could go wrong was a lot of things. The peace that had fallen over you when you’d made up your mind to open up to Robert was replaced almost immediately by fear. Sheer, unadulterated, naseauting  _ terror.  _

You spent the better part of an hour pacing around your house the next day, mentally rehearsing what you could say that wouldn’t send Robert--or any of the other neighbors--running from your fucked-up-ness. You had a feeling that anything you told one of them would eventually circulate around the whole cul-de-sac. Not necessarily because they were gossiping purposefully, but simply because word traveled. Either way, you couldn't think of  _ any  _ of them who would be okay with what you wanted to tell Robert. Maybe it would be better off not to tell him after all. 

You couldn’t seem to sit still for more than a few minutes at a time, nervous energy keeping you on your feet, or at the very least keeping your legs jittering and your fingers tapping.  _ Anything  _ to keep from sitting still. Your work went unlooked at, and when you tried to force down lunch, you had a few intense moments where you genuinely thought you might be sick. 

Finally, after worrying yourself into knots, you left the house, more out of sheer desperation than anything else. Your stomach felt like you’d eaten a brick, heavy and tight at the prospect of finally talking about why you’d moved. Your whole body was alive with adrenaline; truth be told, you were exhausted from being so keyed up all day.

You’d originally left the house with no real destination in mind, but as you walked, you realized you were getting near the coffee shop. So, with a shrug, that was where you went. 

Not unpredictably, Robert didn’t seem to be there. 

But Mat’s voice touched you like a breath of fresh air, and you found yourself smiling for the first time that day. 

As you stepped up to the counter--after glancing around to be sure Robert wasn’t hiding in a corner--you saw that Mat had changed up his look a little. 

“Nice flower crown,” You gave him the compliment completely unironically. It really was a nice flower crown, woven out of daisies and placed delicately over his dreadlocks. Something about the dash of femininity really worked on him. 

He might have blushed; it was hard to tell. “Thanks. My daughter made it. You met Carmanista, right?” 

If you  _ really  _ thought about it, you could remember him introducing his daughter to you at the barbecue. She was a talented girl, if the flower crown was any indication. “Yeah, I think so.” You had to be honest with him. That whole day was a blur, faded and messy after the binge you’d gone on directly afterward.

Mat didn’t seem offended by your honesty. 

The two of you fell to talking as he made your order. It must have been the slow part of the day for him, because the shop was empty save for you and him. As you stood at the counter and chatted, you drummed your fingers, shifting your weight every now and again. The adrenaline had worn away some now that you knew Robert was nowhere near, but you couldn’t quite dispel the anxious energy that tingled through you. 

Mat noticed. “Is everything okay?” 

You flinched, looking away so you wouldn’t have to see the look in his eyes. Did  _ everyone  _ have some sort of theory about your past? Wondering what Mat’s was, you shook your head. “I’m good. Just . . . kind of made a big decision last night.” 

When you looked back up at him, he was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. He was nearly as good at keeping his face blank as Robert was. “Big decisions can be scary, but also kind of a relief once you decide what to do. And, I mean, I’m speaking as a guy who opened his own coffee shop and named it The Coffee Spoon.” 

He laughed, and you found yourself laughing along with him. 

In a way, you  _ did  _ still feel a little lighter. Knowing what you wanted to do felt  _ good.  _ Like a definitive plan. 

You hung around the shop a little while longer, trading puns with Mat as he tried to name his most recent confection. When a small line started forming at the counter, you took your leave, feeling more confident in your choice for having told someone about it. 

You decided against going to the bar, knowing that, if Robert  _ wasn’t  _ there, you weren’t in a mood to have a drink alone. As you walked back toward home, you rehearsed, again, what you would say to Robert. When the time came. 

You would know when it was the right time. 

You focused on work the next day, knowing that if you didn’t make yourself do it now, it would just pile up until it was too daunting to tackle. You kept a playlist of some of your old favorite 80s hits playing in the background most of the day, occasionally singing along. In the back of your head, you wondered if staying inside all day to work was  _ too much  _ like avoiding him altogether.

Still, following your normal routine felt a lot better--less nerve wracking--than waiting around or trying to simulate the perfect circumstances. 

It wasn’t out of the ordinary for you to go several days between Robert sightings at  _ all.  _

So when you stepped into the Coffee Spoon a few days later, intent only on getting some coffee and doing work (and then maybe going to the park, because  _ damn  _ was it gorgeous out) the sight of Robert sitting alone in a corner caught you off guard. Your steps faltered in the door, your body flip-flopping awkwardly from calm and relaxed--as calm and relaxed as you ever could be, anyway--to suddenly on edge. Catching your breath, you collected yourself quickly, your hesitance taking no more than an instant. 

Robert fairly  _ loomed  _ in the corner, brooding over a cup of coffee like it was his only friend in the world. He didn't even look up when you entered. Something about the expression on his face, or, the total lack of one, indicated that he was lost deep in his own thoughts. 

He didn't seem to notice that you were there, even as you ordered your usual and, casting a quick smile at Mat, approached. 

“Hey.” 

You sat across from him without an invitation, watching as he started slightly. His expression shifted, from the blankness of being absorbed in his own thoughts to the careful expressionless look you were more accustomed to. He shifted his eyes to your face, the look expressing the verbal greeting you weren’t likely to get. 

That was fine by you; you had a lot on your mind and a lot to get off your chest. 

“I need to talk to you.” He blinked, but didn’t otherwise react. “I’ve had something on my mind for a couple days. Pretty much since the other night.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. Had you thought he was inexpressive once? You probably could have held an entire conversation with him without him ever needing to say a word. He spoke anyway. “A couple of days? You could’ve talked to me a lot sooner by texting me.” 

You bristled at the condescension. “No, I couldn’t have. Because, for one, I don’t have your number.” You saw him draw beath to speak, but barreled on, cutting him off. “And for two, I don’t even have a phone. So.” 

As he leveled that familiar, even gaze onto your face, you narrowed your eyes. Had he . . . been angling to get your number? 

He went to speak, but stopped when his pocket buzzed. His reaction to the intrusion caught you off guard--as he reached into his jacket pocket for the buzzing phone and looked at the front display, all the blood drained from his face. You could practically see the panic. Because it was the same panic you’d felt the first time you saw him in the bar.

“I’ve got to take this.” As he stood up, he nearly dropped his hand onto your shoulder before seeming to think better of it. “Sorry.” 

Though you were disappointed at the interruption, you couldn’t help being distracted by it all the same. Someone had managed to shake Robert that badly just by calling him, and you were  _ dying  _ to know who it was. You stayed where you were, sipping at your Mocha! at the Disco and gazing around. Wondering when Robert would be done with his phone call. 

After several minutes had passed, you were beginning to get worried. You’d all but finished your coffee, so you stood up and made your way slowly toward the front of the shop. You couldn’t see Robert through the windows, and a weight settled into the pit of your stomach.  Mat waved as you stepped outside, but you hardly noticed.

Robert was nowhere to be seen. 

That must have been some phone call.

Disappointed, but somehow also relieved, you started home. 

There was always next time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DATE TWO, Y'ALL!
> 
> You go on a late-night adventure with Robert, and spill all (or most of) your secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before I go into the silly stuff, this is a *serious note*
> 
> The next few chapters will be *very* heavy. I want to TW this one specifically for mentions of abuse/abusive relationships, mentions of rape/non-con, mentions of violence, and general anxiety/depression/PTSD feels. I'm probably making it sound worse than it is, but better safe than sorry, right?
> 
>  
> 
> Now that that's over: Dudes, seriously. I've been sick this week, and reading all your lovely comments has been so uplifting. 
> 
> Thank you, for probably the millionth time, for reading, for leaving your kudos, and for all the wonderful comments you leave. It means a lot to me, and I'm so glad the something I've enjoyed writing so much is being read and enjoyed by others <3

You passed the next few days in relative peace. The initial rush of adrenaline and indecision that had come after your talk with Robert ebbed as you fell back into the routine you’d developed. Your list of things you needed around the house grew almost daily, and you made a big trip to the store to pick up some of the necessities you’d gone without since the move.

After that, you fell onto the couch and set to work until, before you knew it, the day had slipped away from you.

You’d been spending a lot of time cooped up indoors, but you were used to that. It had become such a normal part of your life that it didn’t seem odd or tedious any more to spend the majority of your days inside and alone. Your only interaction had used to be . . . well, you hadn’t used to have a friendly barista you could go visit regularly and chat with, that was for sure. You hadn’t had a giant, bear of a man across the way who would smile and wave every time you passed, and who you sometimes stopped to chat with about his yard. You  _ definitely  _ hadn't had a matched set of friendly, neighborhood Goths who always had the time to greet you. You hadn’t had  _ anyone,  _ except . . .

Your thoughts broke up abruptly as something tapped against the window behind you.

“Shit!” You jumped, leaping forward and off the couch. Spinning around, heart racing, you stared at the curtains. The tapping came again, and you could feel your heart in your throat, choking you. This time, the tapping sounded like something hard hitting the glass. 

“What the . . .” Curious despite yourself, you slowly stepped back up to the couch. With your heart still racing, you knelt on the couch and leaned forward. You took a deep breath and shifted the curtains out of the way to peer out into the night.

“Oh, what the fuck.” 

For an instant, you could feel yourself falling into the abyss again, and then your vision shifted, and you realized who it was. 

Robert stood on your lawn, tossing some pebbles up and down in one palm and--honest to god--grinning. When he saw you looking out at him, he dropped the pebbles and beckoned to you. Though the sight of a familiar face  _ should  _ have been a relief, you found yourself suddenly feeling sick to your stomach.

Still, you pushed yourself off the couch and went to the front door. 

Robert met you on the porch.

“Uh, hey.” You looked out at him through the gap as you opened the door. You weren’t exactly . . . dressed for company. You’d yanked off your pants the second you got home from the store, and you hadn’t bothered putting them back on again since then. 

He didn’t seem to notice or care. “C’mon.” He jerked his chin to the driveway, where, you saw as you leaned around the door a bit, his old pick-up was parked. “We’re going on an adventure.” 

“Where?” 

_ An adventure? At this time of night?  _

You couldn’t imagine where he wanted to go, but you almost certainly  _ didn’t  _ want to be included.

“If you  _ really  _ want to know, I’ll tell you. But not knowing’s half the fun, right?”

Then again . . . 

You heaved a sigh. It  _ had  _ been a few days since you’d done anything other than work. Maybe getting out of the house would be a good idea. And maybe you’d be able to finally talk to him. “Alright. Hang on a minute.” 

It only took you a minute to quickly pull on your pants after finding them where you’d left them pooled on the floor by the couch. It took you considerably longer to do a shot and pour some of your vodka into a water bottle. It never hurt to have some emergency booze, just in case things went south. 

Plus, the liquid courage helped.

By the time you stepped outside, locking the door behind you, Robert had retreated to your driveway and lit a cigarette. He hardly reacted when you approached him, but you could see the subtle shift as he turned and released a puff of smoke away from you. It hung in the still air for a moment before dissipating slowly. There wasn’t much breeze to carry it away, so you got a satisfying whiff of it as you stepped up beside him.

“‘Bout time. Ready?” 

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his ever-present pack of gum. You wondered how much he spent on cigarettes and gum a week. 

“Yeah, I guess.” You didn’t  _ feel  _ ready, but you made yourself look up at him as he put a piece of gum into his mouth and twisted his cigarette butt into the leftover piece of foil. He glanced your way, pushing himself away from the wall and starting toward his truck. He didn’t say anything, just waited as you followed him. 

His truck was, not surprisingly, a little cluttered with empty cigarette cartons, but it was mostly clean. It didn’t have that musty, old-smoke smell that so many smokers’ cars did, and for that you were grateful. You didn’t think you could have handled sitting in a car that smelled so much like  _ him.  _

As it was, as you pulled yourself up and into the seat, yanking the door closed behind you, you immediately shrank into the corner of the seat. Robert was too close, even the gap of a foot or so as you sat on either ends of the bench seat feeling too close for comfort. The second you closed the door behind you, you could feel your chest constricting, your lungs freezing, and your heart beating so fast that it felt liable to jump out of your chest. 

But he’d already started his truck and had pulled out of your driveway before you could fully formulate the thought that you  _ really  _ wished you were still sitting on your couch alone with a drink. 

You drove for several minutes, both of you staying mostly silent. You watched out the window, feeling the shot you’d taken beginning to go to your head. It wasn’t the usual, pleasant buzzing in your head, but instead a tightness in your chest and a heaviness behind your eyes. 

You stayed firmly crushed in the corner of the seat, your hands twisting in your lap, for the drive. When Robert got on the highway, you finally spoke up. “Where are we going?” 

“Nowhere really important.” He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, but you only saw the movement. You didn’t take your eyes off the road. 

“Hey,” He turned his head to look at you briefly. You managed to glance at him for a second before looking away again, crossing your arms and shrinking further into yourself. “If you want to go back, we can.”

The prospect was tempting.

_ No. He already knows you’re a coward, don’t prove him right.  _

“It’s okay.”

He glanced at you again, but you turned to look out the window, watching as the dark scenery flashed by. 

By the time he pulled the truck to a stop, you were hopelessly lost. You were so unfamiliar with the area, you weren’t even sure if you were in town any more. He parked the truck in total darkness, and by now you could feel your heart threatening to jump up your throat and out of your mouth. You couldn’t breathe, you could hardly even  _ think  _ past the panic raging in your mind. 

The second the truck stopped, you threw open the door and nearly fell out in your eagerness to be out of the cramped space. 

Gasping, you took in huge lungfuls of cool, night air. You heard the truck door open and slam shut again as Robert exited his truck. The next instant, he was at the end of the truck, pulling the tailgate down. Still trying to force air into your lungs, you turned around to face him.

You sucked in a breath, pausing to take in the view.

It was the town. Sprawling out in front of you as you viewed it from the edge of a cliff. The lights glimmered below you, stretching out in the regular, grid-like pattern of city streets. For a long moment you stared, your panic forgotten in the light of such a fantastic view. Mostly.

You were still out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, with a man who you weren’t entirely sure you trusted. 

Attracted by movement, your gaze shifted back to Robert, who had hefted himself up to sit on the tailgate. He was looking at you, the hint of a smirk hovering over his lips. He didn’t say anything, just sort of tipped his head, and you understood the invitation.

Shying away from him as you passed just in front of him, you walked around to the end of the truck and hoisted yourself up onto the tailgate. Your arm brushed his jacket as you did, and you shuddered at even that small amount of contact, pushing yourself as far away from him as was possible. 

“This is . .  .” As your eyes settled back on the view, you nearly smiled. “Really nice.”

“Yeah.” He tipped a look at you from the corner of his eye, his eyebrows going up. “It’s where I come to masturbate.” 

_ Oh, Jesus Fuck. _

You snorted, putting both hands up to your mouth to stifle the sound. “What?!” You had  _ not  _ needed that image in your head. Truth be told, you hadn’t thought about him in that capacity at  _ all  _ since first seeing him in the bar, but now that he’d brought it up . . . You sneaked a peek at him, your thoughts twisting into ideas that you couldn’t quite decide how to feel about. You swallowed, forcing your eyes back to the skyline as you tried to think of something , _ anything  _ other than Robert coming out into the middle of nowhere to look at the view and pleasure himself.

The laughter had helped to relax you.

“I’m  _ kidding.”  _ He looked way too smug as he said it. Like he knew what kind of images his comment had brought raging into your mind. “I just come out here to think sometimes.”

“It’s a good thinking spot.” 

You jumped at a sudden metallic  _ clink!  _

Turning, you saw a glint, and you nearly screamed when you realized it was starlight glimmering off a knife blade. 

A headline flashed through your mind.

_ LOCAL MAN RAPED AT KNIFE POINT _

_ “I should have let him stab me,” victim claims.  _

Scrambling, you all but threw yourself away from him, hitting the dirt just as he stood up. You heard a clatter as he dropped the knife.

“Hey!” 

His voice stopped you in your tracks. 

“What, you think I’m gonna stab you?”

Whirling to face him again, your heart threatening to choke you, you saw that he’d jumped to his feet as well. He held both hands up, mirroring his posture the time after the barbecue. Signalling, beyond a doubt, that he had no intent to harm you. 

You laughed suddenly, absurdly, your heart pounding wildly and your lungs screaming for air. “Stabbing would be  _ preferable. _ ” You took a step away from him as he inched toward you. Covering your eyes with one hand, you realized your cheeks were wet. 

“Shit.” 

With a thump, you hit the ground. Your knees had given out on you.

You kept laughing, breathless with the sheer absurdity of the situation. 

Robert was at your side before you realized he’d moved, kneeling in the dirt beside you. “Jesus Christ, are you okay?”

Letting yourself lie flat in the dirt, you took in a deep, shuddering breath past the panic and manic laughter. “I moved here to get away from my ex.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You *actually* spill all (or most) of your secrets to Robert. 
> 
> Robert teaches you how to whittle. Kinda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter continues the trend of super heavy chapters. TW pretty much just for mentions of abuse/abusive relationships, mostly. 
> 
>  
> 
> I just wanna say that you guys make me very happy. Thank you for 4k hits??
> 
> I don't think there are enough words in the English language for me to properly express just how much your comments mean to me. I sincerely enjoy reading them and interacting with all you lovely people. Thank you.

The words left you in a rush, like they’d built up in there until they couldn’t help coming out. 

The second they left your mouth, you sucked in another deep breath, the tears stopping as suddenly as they’d begun. You lowered your hand from your eyes, looking up at Robert where he knelt above you, his eyes searching your face. His hands hovered close to your arms, like he’d been about to touch you but had stopped himself at the last second.

You stared up at him for a long moment, knowing that there was no going back now. He knew your secret. He knew your shame.

Without saying a word, he pushed himself to his feet. You sighed, turning to gaze up at the stars. There were so many more of them visible out here than from your yard.

Then he pushed his hand into your line of sight. You shifted your eyes to his face again, trying to process what he was doing. “C’mon, let me help you up.” 

_ Oh.  _

With a sudden clarity, you remembered that you were lying flat on your back in the dirt and lord only knew what else, in the middle of the night. Before you knew it, all you could think about was scorpions or spiders crawling down your back. You gladly wrapped your hand around his wrist, feeling his fingers tighten around yours as he helped you back to your feet.

When you’d regained your feet, he didn’t let go of your arm right away, his grip tightening just slightly. You looked up into his face, feeling the old familiar pounding of your heart as you met his eyes. 

With a surge of heat, you looked away. “I didn’t  _ really  _ think you were going to hurt me.” Now that the moment had passed, you could feel your face burning with shame and guilt. 

_ Coward.  _

He let you go. You watched him for a moment as he settled back down on the tailgate, retrieving the knife. Your heart did a little flip flop, but you swallowed the feeling away. As he pulled a piece of wood out of his jacket, you could feel the heat that crawled up your neck burning even hotter. If you’d just  _ waited  _ a second, you would have seen what his intentions were. 

You hadn’t moved as he left your side, but as he looked up at you again, you shuddered. “Wanna talk about it?” 

You  _ did.  _ You  _ really  _ did.

You nodded.

But as you pushed yourself back up onto the tailgate, you found that you couldn’t. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you curled your knees to your chest and leaned your back against the side of the truck bed. You stared out at the skyline, taking deep breaths as you tried to make yourself speak. You could hear the words in your mind, knew  _ exactly  _ what you wanted to say, but somehow you couldn’t manage to make the words come. It was like your lungs and throat had frozen, taking away your ability to speak. 

As you sat and struggled with yourself, you could feel the tears threatening again at the frustration of wanting so desperately to speak and being unable to. Then, Robert leaned toward you, piercing through your cloud of frustration as you focused on the movement. 

“Here.” He held out an object to you, and you reached to take it without thinking. He dropped it into your palm, and then pushed another object into your other hand.

Looking down at the objects, you saw that he’d given you a little pocket knife and a piece of wood. You glanced up at him in confusion, unsure what he expected you to do with them, but he’d already gone back to his own piece of wood, whittling away at it with practiced ease. You looked back down at the knife he’d given you, and then shrugged. Carefully, you eased the blade out of the pocket knife. It looked sharp, but unthreatening. Very slowly, you touched the knife to the wood and pushed. A ragged strip of the soft wood came away, curling in on itself until it came loose and fell to the bed of the truck.

That had been . . . kinda satisfying?

You tried a few more cuts, and each time the wood gave easily under the knife, a little filing of wood curling up and falling to the truck bed. 

For several long minutes, the two of you worked in silence. You gradually uncurled, finding a more comfortable position--one where the wood pieces fell to the ground instead of in his truck. There was something calming about working with your hands. Even though you weren’t carving anything specific, just the simple act of carefully and meticulously working on something, giving your mind something to focus on other than the roiling thoughts, did you a world of good. 

Sitting quietly beside someone who was also focusing intently on something did wonders, as well. 

Eventually, you took a deep breath and found that words would come now, though slowly. 

“I left pretty much everything behind when I moved.” 

You saw him stir, shifting in his place but not moving or turning to look at you. He hummed softly, to let you know he was listening. 

You plunged on, the words coming, but only with effort. “I didn’t even take my phone. I was worried . . . worried he’d find me if I took it.”

Talking about it now, it took on a slightly unrealistic quality. Like you were talking about something that hadn’t happened to you personally only a handful of weeks before. You kept whittling slowly as you talked, sometimes glancing sideways at him to watch the meticulous motion of his hands as he worked on his own whittling. 

“Things were . . . bad. With him. I planned for weeks. I don’t know if he suspected anything, but for the last couple weeks before I left he . . .” You hesitated. You’d never gone into detail about any of the things he’d done to you. You’d lost all your friends years ago, forced into isolation to please him, and things were still so fresh. Your chest ached just from giving Robert the sparest of details. “He got really sweet, showered me with gifts. And he got really . . . mad.” 

You fell silent. For a long moment you focused on the piece of wood in your hand, trying to force away the memory of the last night, before you’d escaped. Tears threatened to fall even as you tried to choke them down. You could still feel the crush of his body as he’d thrown you against a wall and kept you there with his own weight. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw Robert shift again. He turned slightly, so he was not  _ quite  _ looking at you. As you glanced at him, you saw his eyes shift down to his work again, as though he’d been watching your face until that moment. 

“Y’know, that first night at the bar,” You laughed despite yourself, remembering how horrified you’d been when you’d first seen Robert step through the door. “I thought you were him.” 

Now he  _ did  _ look up at you, not bothering to hide it. 

You couldn’t look at him. Not now. “You . . . looked just enough like him that it scared the shit out of me.”

You heard him hiss something under his breath. It sounded like  _ fuck.  _

You hadn’t stopped carving away at the wood. Really, all you were doing was slowly destroying it, whittling it away into nothingness one tiny piece at a time. You could see that he’d stopped, though, and knowing that he was watching you made your throat tighten again, your lungs clenching in your chest until it was a struggle to draw a full breath. 

Still, you soldiered on. Now that you’d started, you didn’t think you could stop if you’d wanted to. 

“And then I found out your name and I thought . . . fuck, the universe must hate me. Cuz I moved halfway across the country to get away from him, only to find out I live two doors down from someone with the same name, who looks so much like him.” 

He shifted position again, stretching one leg out across the tailgate and letting the other dangle down toward the dirt. Lounging. Casual, but, as his leg brushed yours, you suspected purposeful. A way of extending contact without  _ really  _ doing so. 

_ So you don’t flip out like a crazy person. _

“Do I still remind you of him?”

You tore your eyes away from your work to look at him, startled by something you heard in his voice. He met your eyes in that familiar, even look, but you could see his throat working as he swallowed. He seemed just as nervous as you were.

“Sometimes.” You admitted slowly, not wanting to lie to him. You saw his expression shift for an instant, before he carefully rearranged it back to his normal blank look. “When you smoke, mostly.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry.” 

He sounded so genuinely remorseful, you felt your heart ache. “Oh, shut the  _ fuck  _ up.” The words came out more forcefully than you’d intended. His eyes widened as he sat back, surprised by your outburst. “Don’t you dare try to apologize for something you can’t help. It’s not  _ your  _ fault I saddled myself with an asshole who reminds me of you.” The anger happened just like that--no warning, nothing--and as a new kind of heat rose in your chest, you could feel your previous sadness burning away. “Besides, I kind of like it.” 

He raised his eyebrows, huffing out a breath. “What?”

_ Oh, goddamnit. Think before you speak! _

“I-I mean . . .” You stumbled over an explanation. “Not in a weird, creepy way.” 

_ Kind of in a weird, creepy way.  _

“I just mean, you’re so much . . . nicer about it. He used to purposely blow smoke in my face. He smoked inside, and in the car, and he’d throw butts everywhere. You’re always so  _ considerate _ about it.” 

You didn’t dare mention that, when you saw him smoke, you occasionally craved the same behavior from him. Or, better yet, craved the touch of his mouth on yours after he’d smoked, so you could taste it on your tongue again. 

He relaxed a touch, going back to his whittling.

“Sounds like this guy was a huge dick.” 

You laughed, even as you could feel yourself beginning to shake. The familiar shakes that seemed to originate deep inside you, where simply trying to relax couldn’t stop them.

“Yeah. Yeah, he was.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I *really* hate being super self-promotion-y, but I'm having a bit of money trouble this month.
> 
> My commissions are open, if anyone wants a quick fic, or even just to spread the word.
> 
> Thanks again for reading, dudes.
> 
> https://lady-mia.deviantart.com/journal/Commission-Information-OPEN-649047578


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Robert have a nice moment.
> 
> And then your worst nightmare comes true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge TW for this chapter, okay guys? The usual TW for mentions of abuse/abusive relationships, and then for physical abuse, mental/emotional abuse, gendered slurs, swearing, violence, blood, etc. 
> 
> Seriously, this and the next chapter are gonna be heavy.
> 
> On another note, I think I might need to switch to once-a-week updates. I'm running low on backup chapters, and I don't want to get to a point where I leave you guys hanging entirely while I write the next chapter. So if I don't update on Thursday, you know why.

The two of you sat and whittled together for a little while after that. You didn’t talk much, but you couldn’t deny the unmistakable feeling of connection there was between you. The connection of a shared experience and new intimacy. You’d opened up to him about your past, and he hadn’t run away screaming. Somehow knowing that he knew and didn’t think less of you helped more than the actual act of talking about it.

Talking about it had been torturous. 

It was getting late  though, and after several minutes of silence, he claimed it was probably time to head back into town. 

Your legs were wobbly as you hopped down from the tailgate, but it had as much to do with how you’d been sitting as with the exhaustion that had slowly been creeping over you since you’d first fallen into companionable silence with Robert. It was the exhaustion that came from being anxious and scared, and then opening up and allowing yourself to be honest and emotionally vulnerable with someone. You blinked sleepily as you settled into the bench seat of Robert’s truck, smiling a little as he pulled himself in beside you. 

You drove in silence all the way home, this silence far more comfortable than the one on the way there. You had nearly drifted off by the time he pulled into your driveway. 

Waking with a jolt, you rubbed your eyes and realized you were home. He hadn’t spoken a single word the whole time, letting you sink into a half-doze that betrayed more about you than you cared to think about at the moment. Casting a glance at Robert, you hesitated. “Well,” The door handle clicked as you pushed the door open. “Thanks for the adventure?” 

You were relieved in a very strange way when he put the truck in park and opened his own door. He met you at the front end of the truck, pushing one hand into his jacket pocket and looking at you through the darkness. “Thanks for . . . well, y’know. Let me know if there’s ever anything I can--” 

You cut him off, impulse driving you forward and into his arms. You wrapped your own arms around his waist and pressed close to him, pressing your face into his shoulder. He smelled, like always, like smoke and leather and spearmint. You could feel him stiffen slightly as you pressed against him, but after a second’s hesitation, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and squeezed. Breathing in his scent, you stood in the circle of his arms for a long moment before pulling away.

His arms stayed around your shoulders, keeping you close to him even as you ended the hug. You looked up into his face only to quickly look away again. You’d been driven by impulse when you hugged him, but now that the moment had passed, you could feel your skin crawling from the extended contact. You pulled away finally, feeling his arms loosen around you as you did. 

“Well . . .” You hesitated, throwing a glance up at him. “Goodnight.” 

“Night.”

Without another glance, he turned and went back to his truck. You watched as he pulled out of your driveway and then into his own, two houses down. As you watched, he waved and disappeared inside. 

Stumbling from exhaustion, you made your own way inside and to bed. You collapsed onto the bed and pulled the covers over your head, wondering how late it was, but not really caring.

You fell asleep even as you replayed the night’s events in your head. 

 

\---

 

You woke up without knowing what had woken you. All you knew was that you had gone, in the space of a second, from a deep sleep to total waking, your heart was in your throat threatening to choke you, and you were  _ scared.  _ You were bone-shakingly terrified as you jumped out of bed and to your feet from where you’d been, only a moment before, flat on your face and snoring. 

Heart racing, stomach already roiling with that sick fear response, you heard the sound you’d been dreading since your move a few months earlier.

The sound of your own name being  _ screamed  _ into the silent house. 

Crashing and swearing followed the bellow, but you’d already gone blank. It was such a familiar, almost  _ comforting  _ feeling, that old slipping away as you fell into the abyss and ceased to be anything more than a shadow, hoping to hide away and avoid detection. You opened your bedroom door almost out of habit, and  _ he  _ came into view, charging toward you like a rabid animal.

You screamed, hearing your own voice like an echo in your ears. 

Before you could even draw breath to scream again, or yell his name, or even, possibly, slam the door in his face and lock it, he was on you. His hands went directly to your head, curling into your hair and yanking so hard your neck twisted painfully and you yelled. 

“I  _ fucking knew  _ I’d find you eventually!” His voice was more than you could handle. Just like you remembered.

He yanked suddenly, and you lost your feet. Your heart hammered in your chest, and even as you stumbled you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you  _ must not  _ fall. Still yelling, your fingernails digging into his wrist, you attached both hands to his arm, struggling against his grip. It felt like he was pulling your hair out by the roots as he dragged you, stumbling, flailing, and screaming, across the house.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, taking off like that?”

His fist connected with your stomach, and you choked, the pain radiating through your entire body. Retching, you staggered, but somehow managed to keep your feet. Your heart was still in your throat, and as you caught a glimpse of his face, you  _ knew,  _ with a certainty, that this was how you were going to die.

He punched you again, his fist hitting you square in the face this time. You were powerless to avoid it, and you took the full power of the blow as he held you in place by the hair. 

He kept screaming at you, still dragging you inexorably toward the front door. 

“And now I find you with some  _ tramp  _ coming home in the middle of the night after you’ve been out only  _ god  _ knows where?!” He shook you until your teeth rattled.

You tasted blood.

Only the strength of his grip in your hair and your fingers digging into his forearm kept you on your feet as you stumbled and nearly hit the carpet again. You knew that if you hit the floor, it would be over; he would hit you and kick you until you stopped moving, and then he would hit you some more.

You couldn’t think, other than the endless, repeating mantra running through your mind as he screamed and dragged you outside, still pummeling you with his free fist at every chance he got. 

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck! Just stay on your feet. Don’t do anything to make him any angrier.  _

His fist punched into your stomach again, knocking your breath away. You let out a sob, even though you hardly felt a thing, only the impact jarring through you. If you hadn’t hit the door jam, you would have fallen. 

“I always knew you were a little bitch,” He pulled on your hair, forcing your head back as you scrabbled at his arm, crying out at the pain. Pushing his face close to yours, he snarled at you. “But I never knew you were a whore, too.” 

His words hit you harder than his fist ever could have. 

You  _ were  _ a whore. 

You went limp, suddenly seeing the truth.

You’d never stood a chance. You were  _ his.  _ His forever, and he was never going to let you go. Not while he had any chance of keeping you under his thumb.

He dragged you outside, still screaming obscenities, but the meaning of his words was lost on you by now. You could hardly see, your vision going dark as you realized you were beyond help. His car was parked on the sidewalk right in front of your house, and once he got you into it, it was all over. He was going to take you back.

Dead or alive. 

You sobbed, and he hit you in the mouth, screaming at you to shut up. 

You tasted blood again, the copper tang bringing some sort of comprehension back. 

Just as you felt the grass under your bare feet, you heard a shout.

Not from  _ him.  _

A new voice.

A voice that had, only a few hours ago, been offering you soft reassurances in the dark.

“ _ Hey!”  _

_ He  _ paused, and his stillness gave you the opportunity to glance up. Barreling out of the pre-dawn greyness, you saw Robert running full-tilt in your direction. He wore nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs and an expression like a lion chasing his rival. For an instant that was all you saw, his movement seeming to pass in clips as he crossed your driveway, and then your lawn.

And then Robert’s fist connected with  _ his  _ face with a  _ crack!  _ that echoed through the cul-de-sac.

The pressure on your hair tightened until you screamed, and you felt yourself falling, hitting the ground so hard your breath left you and your vision went black. 

Dimly, you heard Robert’s voice as he shouted.

“You got a problem with my friend,  _ fucker _ ?”


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The neighbors band together to help out after *He* shows up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter as well, but less so than the last one. Some physical violence, gendered slurs/swearing/name calling, some emotional abuse, and general PTSD/Depression feels.
> 
>  
> 
> So, quick thing guys. I have *roughly* three week's worth of chapters lined up after this week. If I go down to once-a-week updates after this, that'll be six weeks of chapters. If I keep up the twice-a-week updating schedule, I'll most likely run out of chapters and leave you guys hanging for who knows how long. I honestly haven't written any of this piece in several weeks. I don't know if I'm losing steam, losing inspiration, or what, but it just hasn't been coming.
> 
> I know that I personally wouldn't want to leave you guys hanging for gods know how long, but what do you think? Do you want one chapter a week and hopefully less chance of me running out of chapters, or two a week and more chance of me running out of chapters? Let me know, or don't, either way we'll hope for the best. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading and commenting, guys. I appreciate that you've all been with me through this and leaving feedback. You're all wonderful readers, and I hope that you'll bear with me as I finish this story. Thanks <3
> 
> OH yeah, and this chapter isn't super edited, so excuse any mistakes.

You felt his fingers go slack suddenly, and that was all you needed to free you from the spell you’d been under. You rolled away from _him_ and scrambled to your feet as quickly as you could. _He_ was sprawled in the grass where he’d fallen, his hands pressed to his face while blood poured between his fingers. Robert stood over him, still shouting.

It was only when you got to your feet that you realized you were limping, and your vision was still black and fuzzed around the edges. Staggering backward, you felt your feet hit an edge, and you hit the cement of your porch with a  _ thump! _

And there you stayed, staring at  _ him  _ where he lay flat on the grass, groaning and writhing with pain.

You couldn’t breathe, and your heart didn’t even feel like it was beating any more. Like it had started beating so fast it was one, continual pulse now. It was like your whole body had frozen up, betraying you in the height of your danger. 

You shuddered, realizing out of nowhere that you were freezing. As you curled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them, you saw movement that brought your eyes back up to Robert. You looked into his face, and cringed at what you saw there. Anger still burned in his eyes.

He stepped toward you. 

You cringed away from him, curling into a tighter ball, burying your face in your arms. 

Robert’s steps faltered. “What’s wrong with you?” 

You flinched at the words. 

“Hey,” A new voice broke in, and you vaguely recognized it as Mat’s. When you glanced up, you saw he’d appeared out of seemingly nowhere and pushed between you and Robert. His hands were on Robert’s shoulders, and he was pushing him back. “C’mon, man. You’re scaring him.” 

Looking up, you could see that a crowd had gathered. People pushed in on all sides, your neighbors all rushing out to see what the commotion had been about. 

Suddenly, there was a whole new commotion, as all the neighbors began to talk at once.

You began to shudder, your whole body consumed by the shivers as tears started tracking silently down your face. Even as everyone talked, you pressed your face into your arms and began to sob in earnest. Your whole body shook, from the sobs and the uncontrollable shivers wracking your frame. 

Someone approached softly, and you flinched as they draped something around your shoulders. Without looking, you grasped at it and pulled it tight around you. 

You had just let yourself melt into the rhythm of voices talking softly, and then  _ he  _ began yelling again.

“Oh, go  _ fuck yourselves!”  _ He started screaming and swearing, his voice like needles in your brain. 

At first, he only swore at the others, but then he started to scream at you. 

You flinched under the firestorm. “You think this is going to stop me, you bitch? This isn’t going to help you get Amanda back!” 

With a  _ crack!  _ that reverberated through the air, someone hit him again. 

You looked up in time to see Robert pulling his fist back to hit  _ him _ again. He’d gone to one knee on the ground beside  _ him _ , one hand tangled in the front of  _ his _ shirt, pulling  _ him _ a few inches off the ground, while his other hand had balled into a fist. 

You cried out, but Brian caught Robert’s fist before he could hit  _ him  _ again. He pulled Robert away, and Robert went, apparently unwillingly, throwing his hands up and stomping a short distance away.  You saw Brian going to his knees on the ground to hold  _ him  _ there, and a surge of relief flashed through you.

The shivers redoubled; you couldn’t stop them. 

Now that things had calmed down, you could feel the exhaustion setting in. And the stiffness. And the pain. Oh  _ fuck,  _ the pain. Your face hurt, and your tongue hurt where you’d bitten in. Your stomach hurt, and your ribs. Slowly, you uncurled a bit, pressing a hand to your head where a spot of pain told you he might have pulled out some of your hair. You brought your hand away bloody, confirming your suspicion. 

Someone approached you again, and you cringed away as you felt them kneel beside you. “Hey,” You stared up into Craig’s face, and then blinked, shifting your gaze to Mary, who stood just behind him. “Can I take a look at you? You’re bleeding.” 

You just blinked at him, not totally comprehending what he’d said. But you didn’t move as he carefully reached toward you. His hands were gentle as he took your face between them, turning your head slightly. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Jesus. You’re lucky he didn’t break your nose.” His fingers touched your jaw, pressing and prodding until you winced in pain, but he moved on soon enough, trailing his fingers across your nose, your brow, the spot on your head that burned in the cool night air. 

Beside him, Mary handed him a square of cloth, and he carefully went to the task of wiping the blood off your face. You stared at him as he worked, still shivering uncontrollably, but somehow comforted by his gentle touch. 

“Hey,” You started, flinching away as someone else knelt down a little way away from you. 

It was Hugo, holding a steaming mug out toward you and looking at you with kindness and concern in his eyes. “Here. It’ll help.” 

You took the mug hesitantly, immediately cupping both hands around the hot surface. Bringing it close to you, you absorbed the warmth and inhaled deeply, realizing that he’d brought you tea.  _ Strong  _ tea, from the smell of it, and as you took a sip you realized there was alcohol in it, too. 

Blinking, you looked up at him in time to catch his smile. “It’s not a lot, but it’ll help calm you down.” You blinked again, and he stood up slowly, leaving you with Craig and Mary, who had started handing bandages to Craig. 

“Hold this,” He took your hand carefully, pushing the damp cloth into your grasp and then gently placing your hand on your head. He pushed, and you obediently applied pressure. “Try not to move much, okay?” 

After applying a quick bandage to your eyebrow, he pushed himself to his feet, apparently done with his ministrations. He and Mary left you as well, to join the commotion of the neighbors still milling on your lawn.

The warmth of the tea helped some. Everything was still fuzzy, though, including your thoughts. Nothing seemed to be happening in your mind at all, except a sort of vague buzzing, like the static on an old television set. You stared at the ground, sipping the tea now and again out of habit, the combined warmth of the drink and the cloth around your shoulders--a cloak?--finally getting the shivers to mostly subside. The tears still fell, even as you could feel numbness crawling over you. 

It had only been a few minutes, but it seemed like an eternity before you heard sirens. A cop car and an ambulance both screamed into the cul-de-sac, stopping in front of your home. 

Then it was all noise and activity. The police cuffed  _ him,  _ after Brian had kindly let him up, and a paramedic with gentle hands and a soft voice helped you to your feet and guided you to the ambulance. She talked the whole time, supporting your weight as you limped across the grass with her. As you passed the cops and  _ him,  _ you heard him snarl, and he spit at you. There was an immediate scuffle as the cops wrestled him away and toward their car, pushing him down on the curb, where you couldn’t see him after you’d reached the back of the ambulance.

The paramedic checked you over again, wrapping you in another blanket as the shivers still crawled through you unstoppably. 

You still couldn’t form a complete thought, and you still couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. 

When the cops came to question you, you told them the truth. Everything from the instant he’d burst into your house, as well as you could remember, plus some of what he'd done before, to give them context. The words came out of you without much effort on your part. You stared at the ground as you spoke, the weight bearing down on your mind making it too hard to lift your eyes. 

Then you were on your feet again, swaying with the effort of staying upright, the kind paramedic recommending that you take it easy for a few days and rest.  _ He  _ had already been pushed into the back of the cop car and taken away, and when the ambulance finally pulled away from the curb, you realized the street was finally quiet. The neighbors had mostly drifted away, now that the excitement was done, but as you swung around to face your house again, you saw that a few remained.

Mat, Robert, and Damien stood close together on your lawn, talking intensely among themselves. They turned toward you, and Robert broke away from the group to come toward you at once. He was across the yard in a handful of strides, and you realized with a start that the knuckles on his right hand were bandaged. The tears that had been silently flowing the whole time suddenly shifted, and you sobbed, pressing both hands to your face. 

“C’mon,” He lifted his hand as if to take your arm, but stopped himself. “Your door is busted, so you can stay with me for tonight. If that’s okay.” 

You just nodded, feeling the weight that had been pressing on your mind becoming too heavy to bear. The others dispersed as Robert guided you down the street to his home. You followed slightly behind him, wrapping your arms around yourself.

As you stepped inside, Robert quickly burst into activity. 

You ignored most of it, sinking onto the couch and just . . . sitting. Your body hurt, and your mind still just couldn’t form any thoughts. Your eyes felt heavy. You were still shivering. 

Without a thought, you stretched out on Robert’s couch and closed your eyes.

You were still awake, barely, when he draped a blanket over you and, as he passed, pushed your hair off your forehead with gentle fingers.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Robert have a serious talk.
> 
> The neighbors continue banding together to help you out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is definitely less Trigger-Happy than the last couple. Thanks for sticking through it while it was rough, guys! 
> 
> Also, thanks for being so patient with me while I figure out updates! It looks like I'll be going down to one chapter a week, but I do have some good news: I'm no longer stuck, so I'm getting to some more juicy bits ;P I can't wait for you guys to read them!

You woke up with a start, your heart racing and your mind whirling. 

Sitting up on the couch, you stared around, trying to figure out what had woken you. Nothing moved, and as you listened, peering around the house, you realized the shower was running. Your heart slowly calmed, and you relaxed back onto the couch, blinking away the rest of your sleepiness. 

The events of the night before--or, you guessed, very early that morning--roiled in your mind, but the numbness had faded. You were you again, and not the wraith that  _ he  _ turned you into. 

As you sat, your host of aches and pains started to make themselves known again. You let your head rest on the back of the couch, closing your eyes and taking several deep breaths. 

By the time the shower shut off abruptly, you had nearly fallen asleep again. Only your scattered thoughts kept you awake, as you went over the events of the previous night again and again. Wondering if there was anything you could have done that would have made things go down differently. 

When the shower shut off, you opened your eyes and straightened up on the couch, but it was another few minutes before Robert appeared from somewhere deeper in the house. He wore his usual outfit, a pair of well-fitting jeans and a v-neck tshirt, minus his usual leather jacket. He looked . . . softer, somehow, without the jacket on, and with his hair still damp and rumpled from his shower. 

You quickly sucked in a breath and looked away from him. 

He came toward you and sat heavily on the couch, sprawling in that casual way he had. You couldn’t help noticing that his leg brushed yours as he did this, and he didn’t move away from the contact. Neither did you. 

He sighed, and you shot him a swift glance. “You didn’t tell me your ex was such an abusive asshole.” 

The word shocked you. 

“Abusive?” Genuinely confused, you turned to face him, curling up into a ball on the couch. You met his eyes and blinked, surprised by the anger you saw there. “I mean, I left out some details but . . . he never did anything I didn’t deserve.” 

The burst of movement from Robert startled you. He sat up straight and shot himself across the couch at you. You flinched, but he just pushed close to you, looking like he was itching to shake you even as he visibly stopped himself from touching you. “Do. Not. Say  _ anything  _ like that ever again.” 

You looked up at him, your breath catching as you saw the intensity in his eyes. There was nothing you could say to that; nothing he wouldn’t immediately shoot down, any way. 

He spoke again, and you had to choke back a laugh suddenly at how serious he was. “He called you a  _ whore.  _ What in the  _ fuck  _ could you have done to deserve that?” 

Matching his tone, you looked up at him, letting your hand rest on his forearm. “Robert,” He met your eyes again, listening. “Why . . . is  _ that  _ the thing you bring up, after  _ everything  _ that happened last night?” 

You laughed. You couldn’t help it. He’d been so  _ serious.  _

Casting a look down at yourself, you could already see bruises forming on your arms where you’d fought against  _ him,  _ and you were  _ sure  _ your ribs were bruised. You could only imagine what your face looked like after the handful of punches you’d taken, and you were definitely missing a chunk of hair. And he took issue with someone calling you a bad name. 

“Tell me something.” Turning to face him more fully, you uncurled so you could push closer to him. You let your other hand rest on his other forearm. Your closeness took your breath away. “Why do you say he’s abusive?” 

“It’s pretty fucking obvious.” His answer was immediate. Instantaneous. “You literally ran halfway across the country to get away from him, and he  _ still  _ tracked you down to beat the shit out of you.” 

When he put it like that . . . 

_ Abusive? Don’t be a whiner, it wasn’t  _ that  _ bad.  _

You were about to protest, when you remembered what he’d said only a moment ago. So you kept the thought to yourself. Instead, you pulled away from him and stretched, wincing as the movement sent a stab of pain through you. “Thanks for, uh . . . letting me crash.” 

He shrugged. 

“I should probably go home . . . gotta see if I can fix the door. Among other things.” A hot shower was at the top of your list of priorities at the moment, and a good, long cry under the scalding water. 

He nodded, and as you, creakily and achingly, pushed yourself to your feet, he followed you. He trailed you all the way to the door, where, for a moment, he crowded you again. He had a habit of pushing into your personal space, in a way that you kind of didn’t mind. Like he wanted to be close to you, but was taking care not to push any of your boundaries. 

“Later, I’m taking you to buy a fucking phone.” He glowered darkly, and you laughed again. “If Hugo hadn’t called the cops . . .” He didn’t finish the thought. You knew very well what might have happened had the cops not arrived. Or if Robert hadn't. 

A silence passed between you, and then he opened the door and you limped all the way back to your house alone. 

Within a few steps, you realized there was an  _ awful  _ lot of activity going on in your driveway, and as you approached you realized Brian was hard at work on . . . something, in  _ your  _ driveway. Something that involved a power saw and a sander. As you approached, he stopped what he was doing, pushing his safety goggles up onto the top of his head. 

“Oh, hey!” He greeted you in that enthusiastic way he had. “I’ve got your door nearly fixed, figured you wouldn’t mind. Might have some big locks you can install later on, too.” 

You blinked, surprised. He was . . . fixing your door? “Wow.” You didn’t know what else to say. It was such an unexpected, and kind, gesture. “That’s really nice of you.” 

He waved your thanks away, pushing his goggles back down over his eyes. “It’s my pleasure. I’d hate for you to have to hire someone, when I’m right here with nothing else to occupy me.” 

He seemed ready to get back to work, so you waved and headed back inside. You paused just inside the--empty--doorway, unprepared for the sight. Your house was a mess. Books had been torn off the shelf,  _ he’d  _ flipped your coffee table over, and there were spots of blood on the carpet from where your eyebrow and lip must have bled last night. It would be a pain to get those out, but you could worry about that later. For now, you needed a shower. 

As you went into the bathroom, you realized how grateful you were that he’d only gotten to trash the front room. Stepping into your own bathroom, all in one piece and exactly how you’d left it, was a relief after the chaos of the front room. There was something calming about going into a room you’d arranged yourself; your own space, untouched. Untainted. 

While you let the water warm up, you undressed slowly, wincing with pain as you pulled your shirt over your head. The sight of your bare abdomen in the mirror stilled you. Your torso was covered in bruises; your entire right side was a mass of them, the purple marks stretching from just under your arm nearly down to your hip, and across to your belly button, too. You had bruises on your arms, from where you’d fought against  _ him _ . As you examined your reflection, you saw that your eyebrow had split--this you’d known, from Criag’s attentions the night before--but you also saw that one eye was black, and your lip had split when he’d hit you. You looked like you’d gotten into a fight and lost. Badly. 

That wasn’t too far from the truth. 

Feeling somehow safer knowing that Brian was out on your driveway with a power saw close at hand, you took your shower. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert makes good on his threat, and takes you to buy a phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, fun fact: This chapter was originally going to be Damien taking Dadsona to the animal shelter to encourage him to get a big, scary-looking dog to discourage intruders. I ended up going in a different direction, since adding a dog to the cast was too complicated atm, but I saved the section with Damien.
> 
> I'll probably post it once this fic is done as a kind of bonus chapter, the deleted scene y'all didn't get to read haha
> 
> Thanks for 5k hits, dudes!

When you emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, you had to admit that you were feeling a lot better. The hot water had relaxed you and eased some of the aching out of your muscles. And having a good cry, where no one could see or hear you, always helped relieve stress. You were honestly a little surprised at just  _ how  _ okay you felt, considering what you'd gone through. 

You had an idea that no one would have blamed you if you'd curled up in your locked bedroom with a bottle of vodka. 

Instead, you swallowed a handful of painkiller, the pain dulled by the shower, but not nearly enough. Alcohol and it's magical powers of forgetfulness could wait until  _ after  _ you could move without wincing. 

Just as you were swallowing the pills, you heard someone, apparently someone heavily burdened, coming up the front walk. Your heart flip-flopped, but an instant later Brian had come through the empty doorway, carrying your door with him. His eyebrows went up when he saw you, but he didn't comment. You pulled on the sleeves of the shirt you'd put on, knowing that the long sleeves would look odd in the summer heat, but also totally unwilling to leave the house without at least attempting to hide the bruises. Unfortunately, there hadn't been a lot you could do about your face. 

“Door’s all fixed up. I did the jam too, where he busted in. Should be able to get this put back together in a jif.” You watched quietly while he set to work, your heart threatening to overflow with good feelings. He talked the whole time he worked, and you learned that he was a contractor by trade, and one who was  _ inordinately  _ proud of his daughter. He’d talked your ear off about her by the time the door was back in its place, and when he’d left--with the promise to drop off some heavy duty locks you could install later--you sighed, exhausted. Even though you’d just woken up an hour ago, you could have easily taken a nap.

You decided to do just that, pausing long enough to double check that the front door was locked, and then disappearing behind the second layer of protection that was your locked bedroom door. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d slept, but you woke up in darkness. Stretching, you lay on your bed for a moment, blinking in the darkness as the gears of your mind slowly clicked back into action. It was several minutes before you could form full thoughts--it happened gradually, until it occurred to you that you were hungry, and you’d slept pretty much all day. 

Slowly, you swung your legs off the edge of the bed and got up. As you wandered out of your bedroom, you realized it was earlier than you’d thought. A stream of evening sunlight pierced the gloom inside your house as it peeked in through a gap in your curtains. It was still late enough, though, that you knew you’d have trouble sleeping that night. 

You were just finishing up your quick dinner when someone knocked on your door. You weren’t sure you’d ever get used to that, or the way your heart immediately leapt into your throat in panic whenever it happened. Dropping your dish in the sink, you crossed over to the front door and, heart in your throat, peered through the peephole.

You sagged against the door in relief when you saw who it was. 

Pulling the door open, you greeted Robert with a smile. 

“C’mon.” He smelled like fresh spearmint again, like he’d just finished smoking. 

He didn’t give you a chance to protest. You watched as he turned and waved a hand for you to follow him, and then shrugged. Locking the door behind you, you followed him out to the sidewalk. He’d waited for you on the sidewalk, and as you joined him he gave you a sideways look and started walking. You followed him silently. Wherever you were going, you were walking there, and he didn’t seem inclined to tell you where that was.

You walked together in silence for several minutes. You’d thought you were feeling better after your nap, but as you walked you could feel your body beginning to ache again. Thankfully, you reached your apparent destination after only a few minutes. Looking in through the massive display windows, you groaned inwardly. 

“Really, Robert?” Turning to look up at him, you rolled your eyes.

He glowered at you, but didn’t say anything.

You met his eyes for a long minute, slowly lifting your eyebrows, wondering how long he’d hold that expression. When he just continued to glower at you blankly, you finally shrugged and acquiesced. You  _ did  _ need a phone. 

You walked into the store side-by-side, and a sales associate  _ immediately  _ assaulted you. Her voice ground against your eardrums like a balloon releasing its air while someone pinched the opening mostly shut. 

“Hi! Is there something I can help you guys find?” You saw her eyes travel up and down Robert appreciatively, and then her gaze settled on your face. You had to admit, she did a great job of hiding her reaction, but you still saw her eyes widen slightly as she took in your black eye and split lip and eyebrow. 

You winced as her voice assaulted your ears, and as you saw the progress of suspicion crossing her face. 

Robert pushed slightly in front of you. “Yeah, he needs a phone.” He nudged your arm with his elbow. “It’s, frankly, totally irresponsible to go for so long without one.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m right here.” The menacing male tiger routine was getting old. “I just need something that’ll make a basic phone call  in case of emergency. Nothing fancy or smart-phoney.” 

The sales woman looked between the two of you, grinning. “Of course,” She nodded understandingly. “It’s so important to have a phone if there’s an emergency. It’s so sweet of you to worry about your partner.” 

You froze, forcing yourself to look at the woman and not anywhere near Robert. “We’re not really . . . he’s just . . . a friend . . .person.

_ Fucking. Friend-person. You’re a mess.  _

You blinked, keeping your eyes fixed on the woman’s face. She didn’t seem to know how to respond. Beside you, Robert snorted and coughed. 

“Right.” The girl shifted and hitched her smile back onto her face. “Well, I’m sure we can find something that’ll work for you. Why don’t you take a look around, and I’ll be over here if you have any questions.” 

She retreated, and you immediately sucked in a deep breath, turning to look at the phones. You carefully avoided looking at Robert, but you were uncomfortably aware of his presence beside you as you perused the selection. He was like a physical force at your side, the electricity of having him near you almost too much for you to handle. But he didn’t say anything, and so you settled in to look at the phones.

Eventually, you settled on a simple phone, and the girl helped you get it set up. 

Robert still hadn’t said a word, even as you started the short walk back to the cul-de-sac. You walked beside him with your neck and face burning now that you were alone again. You looked through the pre-set background pictures on the phone as you walked, realizing you’d missed having something to focus on to avoid having to talk to people. 

He caught you off guard by turning toward you. “Friend-person?” 

You flushed, your whole body burning with embarrassment. “Uh. A friend who happens to, uh, be a person?” 

“Right.” 

You glanced up at him, catching the tail end of a smirk as it played across his mouth. 

As you reached the cul-de-sac and, eventually, your driveway, you both came to a stop. You hesitated, looking up into his face to find his usual blank expression focused on you. Without a word, he reached out to take your phone out of your hand. You let him have it, your fingers going limp as his hand brushed yours. 

Still wordless, he punched several keys and handed the phone back to you. He left with a nod and a smirk, leaving you staring after him.

You’d gone inside and closed--and locked--the door behind you before you looked at your phone again. 

A number stared up at you from the screen, programmed into your phone under the name  _ FriendPerson.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started a Ko-Fi? So, if you like what I do, or if you wanna give me a signal boost, considering checking it out.
> 
> https://ko-fi.com/A7884C88
> 
> I'm also still offering commissions, and have practically none I'm working on as of now. Thanks for checking it out:
> 
> https://lady-mia.deviantart.com/journal/Commission-Information-OPEN-649047578


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert helps you install new locks on your door, and gets nosy. You *and* Robert continue spilling all your secrets. 
> 
> You begin to think there might be *something* happening between the two of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole lot to say about this chapter, guys. 
> 
> In other news, I've gotten sort of back into the swing of things, and I *think* I've got enough leeway to get me through November. Because *guess what!* I'm participating in NaNoWriMo 2017! Starting November 1st, I'll be trying to write 50,000 words in 30 days, and I'm sorry, but I just won't have time to write my fic during that month (probably, who knows). I'll keep updating though, so no worries.
> 
> If anyone else participates in NaNo, feel free to check out my novel (or hmu up the site, we can be writing buddies!):  
> https://nanowrimo.org/participants/lady_eemia
> 
> Thanks for reading and leaving lovely comments, everyone. <3

You couldn't stop beating yourself up over the awkward moment. Even as you slept, you had uncomfortable dreams; some of them you woke up from in a cold sweat, and you were eighty percent sure those dreams were about  _ him.  _ The others you remembered only vaguely, but you were sure Robert had featured prominently in them all. 

Brian stopped by early the next morning to drop off the heavy-duty locks, as promised. He offered to install them for you, but you politely declined. Installing locks was something you could manage on your own, believe it or not. 

Before you did that, though, you settled in to do some work. It had piled up surprisingly high over the last couple days. It was, maybe not so surprisingly, hard to focus on work when you couldn't get your mind off the memory of your--abusive?--ex breaking into your home in the dead of night and beating you up. You didn't  _ want _ to remember it, but even as you sat and tried to focus, your mind kept wandering. 

If it wasn't wandering to the events of a few nights ago, bringing back the panic you'd felt at the time, it was wandering to Robert. That brought a whole other kind of panic. The kind of panic that made your mind race as you went over and over your interaction the day before, wondering how much bigger of a fool you could've been. 

_ You've really got to think before you speak.  _

Finally, after you'd tried, and mostly failed, to work for a few hours, you pulled out your phone. It was still open to your phonebook, and the only entry there. 

FriendPerson. 

Letting out a sigh, you tapped out a quick text. 

It couldn't hurt to make sure he had  _ your _ number, too. 

Right? 

You hesitated before hitting send, reading over the text again. Was it too flippant? Too serious? Not long enough? Biting your lip, you finally hit  _ send _ . 

The instant you did, you wished you hadn't. Tossing the phone down on the coffee table, as far away as you could, you forced yourself to go back to work. But even as you worked, you found yourself glancing at the phone now and again, imagining that you'd heard it go off. 

It was hours before it finally did. 

You'd given up on work and settled in to watch reruns of your old favorite show online. You were practically nodding off when your phone buzzed, startling you. It buzzed again as you reached for it, your heart in your throat. 

_ Hey _

_ Wyd _

You blinked at the two messages. He typed like a thirteen year old girl. Or a. . . What was the term? A fuckboy? 

With a shrug, you tapped out a reply. 

_ About to install some fatass locks on my front door. Brian has some weird stuff just lying around.  _

You stared at the screen, waiting for a reply. It wasn't a complete lie. You  _ would  _ get around to installing the locks, eventually. 

When a reply was not forthcoming, you settled back on the couch again, stretching out with the laptop beside you playing your show at low volume. 

When your phone buzzed again, you jumped. 

The words on the screen made you flinch. 

_ Open the door _

You sat up on the couch, pushing the curtain aside to peer outside. You were just in time to see Robert, carrying a toolbox,  coming up your front walkway. He waved when he saw you. 

Your stomach clenched.  _ Oh god, no. No, no, no!  _

You couldn't let him in, yet. You  _ couldn't.  _

But he was already outside your door, waiting for you to open it and let him in. Into your sanctuary. Your safe space. 

_ Not actually all that safe though, was it?  _

Even as your mind froze with indecision, your body had gotten up. You didn't want him to think you were  _ rude.  _

You opened the door, and he smirked at you. “Heard you had some locks that need installing. I accept payment in all forms of alcohol.” 

You swallowed back a laugh. He wanted to help? Not only help, but help make your space  _ even safer _ . He lifted his eyebrows at you in that way he had. The way that said: well, what are you waiting for? 

You obediently stepped aside, holding your breath as he crossed the threshold into your home. Knowing immediately that you could forgo taking some painkiller tonight if it meant not going through this encounter sober, you went to the kitchen to pour him a drink. You didn't have any whiskey, but you assumed the vodka would do. You poured yourself one too, mixing it with a healthy dash of a Dr Pepper you'd nearly forgotten you had. While you prepared the drinks, you watched Robert closely. He'd already found the locks Brian had brought and set to work. 

He was good with his hands. 

You squished the thought away, pushing it so far down it would never, ever resurface. With the drinks in hand, you approached him where he'd already gotten one of the locks well underway. You settled on an arm of the couch and sipped your drink while you watched him work. 

“I could've done that myself, y’know.” You commented at last. 

He glanced sideways at you, but said nothing. You couldn't figure out what had been expressed in that one, sideways glance, but you figured it was too much effort to ask. So you sat and sipped your drink and watched him work. 

Eventually, as the drink was beginning to go to your head, he spoke. You wondered if he had the knack for knowing exactly when to speak to catch you off guard and surprise an answer out of you. He didn't even look at you as he spoke, the heaviness of his words not betrayed in his demeanor. 

“Who’s Amanda?” 

You plunged, inexorably, into the abyss. 

You weren't ready for that. You didn't want to think about it. You  _ certainly  _ didn't want to talk about it. Your mind went blank, your thoughts and your body stilling as you carefully kept your expression empty. Only your fingers twitched, tightening around the glass as you cupped it in both hands. You shifted to look into his face, and then just as quickly looked away again. 

_ Hello, Darkness, my old friend.  _

“She's my daughter.” 

The words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them. And then the tightness was back, your lungs freezing in your chest and your throat tightening until you thought you might suffocate with the effort of saying any more. You swallowed, throwing your head back and downing the rest of your drink in one go. The alcohol burned down your throat, but not even the burn could stop the aching in the back of your throat as you plunged, falling endlessly, further and further into darkness. 

Robert hadn't stopped working, his movements deft as he added the finishing touches to the lock. He'd averted his eyes, keeping his gaze focused on his work, but you could tell by the angle of his head that he was paying more attention to you than to the door. 

“I didn't know you had a daughter.” You flinched at the false lightness of his tone. “How old is she?” 

You reached for the drink you'd poured Robert, which had so far gone untouched as he worked, and swiftly threw it back as well. Coughing through the burn, you swallowed and wiped your eyes. Talking about this was too much. More than even talking about  _ him  _ had been too much. 

“She's eighteen, now. Her birthday was . . .” You had to quickly do the math in your head. “About five months ago.”

You hadn't been able to decide how to commemorate the day.  _ He  _ hadn't wanted to commemorate it at all, and you could still feel the shadow of his hands on your body as he'd screamed at you that it was all your fault. 

A tear fell, and you squeezed your eyes shut, folding your arms across your chest and shrinking into yourself. Your breath caught in your throat, and you knew that if you didn't stop yourself now, you'd soon be sobbing. You turned away from Robert, hearing the sound of his tools hitting the floor as he carefully set them aside. 

Before he could come toward you, you spoke again, hoping that your words would keep him where he was. 

“She, uh. She ran away six months before her eighteenth birthday. Got herself emancipated.” You choked on the word. It still hurt as much today, as you sat in your front room in the middle of the evening, as it had all those months ago. Not even time could heal this particular wound. Taking a huge, shuddering breath, you passed your hand over your eyes, trying to wipe the moisture away. Hoping, even as you knew it was impossible, that Robert wouldn't see the tears. 

“That was kinda my wake up call, y’know? Like. . . My daughter left because she couldn't handle the way things were at home. The screaming. The fighting. She saw things no kid should ever have to see.” A sob finally broke through as you said the words aloud. Words you'd thought a million times before. You were starting to shake, your whole body quivering with the effort of staying in some sort of control. 

“I fucking hate myself for putting her through that.” 

There. It was out. The words you'd been screaming at yourself for the last year had finally been said aloud. 

“I should have tried harder. Protected her. I never should have...should have brought her into the whole mess.” 

Robert had said nothing this whole time. He stood quietly in front of you, watching you while you refused to look up from the carpet. Now, he finally stepped forward. His hand fell to your shoulder, and you flinched away from the contact, sucking in a sharp breath. Like  _ that,  _ your tears stopped as your heart rammed its way into your throat and your whole body buzzed into panic mode, fear stopping a sob halfway through. 

You'd said too much. 

You never should have let yourself get so out of control. 

“I have a daughter, too.”

The words surprised you just as much as the the fact that he was saying them. In all the time you'd known him, you never would have guessed that he was a parent. And you'd never known him to share this kind of information freely. His voice was hard, sharpened by an all too familiar pain. 

“She’s twenty-five. After her mother passed, things just kind of . . . deteriorated between us. Not that I was all that great a dad before that. I haven’t even seen her in years.” 

You recognized the pain that tempered his words, and suddenly you realized that there wasn’t as much distance between the two of you as you’d originally thought. Here was someone who understood, perhaps too well, exactly what you’d been through. The weight of his hand on your shoulder felt like it was pressing you into the floor, but you turned toward him at last. Without raising your eyes, you hesitantly let your head rest  against his chest with a bump. 

He froze at first, and then relaxed into the contact, his arms wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you closer. 

“Is that who called you the other day?” You’d made the connection all of a sudden, putting together the panic in his face when he’d gotten the phone call with the new information about his daughter. 

He sucked in a breath, and you felt his arms tighten around you. “Yeah.” There was a quick pause, and his chest shifted under your head as he took a deep breath. “She wants to . . . reconnect. I don't know why she's bothering, after all these years. And after everything I put her through.” 

Your own tears had stilled, settling into an ache deep in your chest, but as you sat in the circle of his arms, pressed against him, you could feel him quivering. After a moment, you realized he was crying, his face pressed into your hair and his arms tight around your shoulders. 

“You may have an abusive ex, but I  _ was  _ one.” 

You wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him even closer to you. Something inside you wanted to comfort him, even as his words sent you spiraling again, panic eating away at your breath. 

Neither of you moved for a long time. 

When you finally did move, it was Robert who pulled away first. He passed a hand over his eyes and adjusted his jacket, clearing his throat. You did the same, suddenly embarrassed again. 

You took a breath, not sure what you could possibly say to make the situation better, but he cut you off. Without looking at you, he swept down to gather his tools. “I got your door all fortified, at least.” The words came out faux-casual, like he was totally prepared to pretend none of the last few minutes had happened. 

“Right.” You forced a smile, your eyes darting to his face for an instant before quickly shifting back to the floor. As he packed up his tools and stood again, you stayed quiet. You followed him to the door, resting your hand on its edge as he pulled it open and moved to step outside. 

For an instant he hovered in the doorway, his lips parted as thought he wanted to say something. For once,  _ you  _ beat  _ him  _ to it.

“You should do it. Reconnect with your daughter, I mean. If you don't try, you'll never know.” 

He blinked, surprised, and then you saw his expression soften. Slowly, he cupped your face with one hand. You sucked in a breath as the roughness of his scarred and calloused hand touched your cheek. His thumb traced the corner of your lips, and his eyes seemed to have focused on your mouth. “So should you.” 

And then he was gone, the absence of his touch like a black hole opening to swallow you. You watched him leave with a sense that something had been left unfinished between you.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Joseph shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno why, but as much as I love Joseph, he kinda gave me creepy vibes. Not in a "he's a cult leader" kinda way, but in a "he may or may not be a sexual predator" way. His whole route/his behavior around Dadsona comes off as very manipulative and predatory, unfortunately =/ 
> 
> But anyway! I love the shit out of Joseph, he's my fave Church Dad, and it's a nice thing he did for Dadsona.
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always, lovelies <3

Somehow, it had taken a couple days for the exhaustion to catch up with you. Though you’d felt mostly okay the day Robert had helped you install the new jimmy-proof locks on your door, the next few days you did little more than sleep and drink. It was like no matter how much sleep you got, it was never enough. You barely even found time to eat, barely feeling hungry in the face of such soul-sucking exhaustion. 

Once you reached out to Robert, texting him to see if he would respond. He didn't. 

A few times, you pulled up your social media and searched for Amanda. You found her profile easily enough, but the sinking, sucking darkness that threatened to consume you every time you even  _ thought  _ about reaching out kept you from doing more than staring at her name, wishing you had the bravery to click into her profile.

It was a few days before something pulled you out of your funk. 

As you were lying on the couch, drifting in that gray area of dozing and still trying to focus on the words on your laptop screen, the doorbell rang. You couldn’t even summon the energy to be startled by it, feeling only a passing dread at the sudden intrusion of someone on your space. For a minute you considered letting whoever it was just go away, but then they knocked. 

Their persistence made you curious. You stood up and moved, swaying slightly with the remnants of your half-nap, to the door. Pressing yourself against it, you peered through the peephole, curious who could be visiting in the middle of the day. 

When you saw the flash of blond hair and a smile that would have blinded Jesus himself, you couldn't help smiling. Joseph waved as you opened the door.

“Hey, neighbor.” He seemed. . . Relieved? 

Before you could greet him--or even gather your thoughts enough to form a sentence--he dove toward you. You flinched, but he'd already thrown his arms around you in an embrace. 

“I'm so sorry I wasn't here to help the other night. Mary told me everything.” He pulled away to look at you, his hands still squeezing your shoulders. You cringed at the prolonged contact, and at the idea that he'd heard about the events of a few nights ago. Everyone else had been there; you hadn't stopped before now to wonder where he had been. “I would have come by sooner, but didn't want to come empty handed.” 

“What?” You laughed, suddenly worried that he'd done something stupid. “It's nice to be worried about, but it's no big deal. Everything's fine. Everyone's been way too nice about this.” You didn't think you needed to mention how Damien had stopped by and tried to sell you on the idea of a big, scary dog to scare away intruders, or how Brian had fixed your door, Robert had installed your locks, and even Craig had stopped by to see how you were recovering and offer to show you some basic self-defense moves. While the support was nice, it got exhausting having so many people worrying about you and knowing about the ex who haunted your past. 

“I took up a collection at the church!” He sounded so pleased with himself, you had to smile and shake your head. “They’re a generous group of people.” As you watched, he kicked a box that you hadn’t noticed until just that moment. 

Dread dropped into the pit of your stomach, but the feeling was, oddly enough, accompanied by a weird lurch in your heart as you realized that he actually cared. The realization hit you just as hard this time as it had the night the neighbors had all rushed to your rescue. You were among friends, here.

“Jesus,” You slapped a hand to your mouth too late to stop the word from coming out, but Joseph just laughed. Sheepish, you chose your next words more carefully. “That’s really,  _ really  _ nice of you, Joseph. I wish there was a way I could thank you and your church.” The kindness of these strangers was too much. Overwhelmed, you watched as Joseph picked up the box and stepped into your home uninvited. 

He laughed as he set the box down to one side. “Y’know,  _ thanks  _ usually works in those situations.” 

“You’re right.” Catching him before he stepped outside again to, presumably, retrieve another box of donated things, you held out a hand to shake his. As he took your hand, you pulled him into one of those awkward, one-armed hugs you’d seen so many people do, slapping his shoulder with your free hand. “Thank you.” You said the words as you pulled away from him, trying to suppress a shudder. “Seriously, this means so much, I’m not sure I can even find the right words to explain it.” 

He dropped a heavy hand on your shoulder, grinning. “I’m just glad I could help. You’ll let me know if there’s anything else I can ever do, right?” 

“Of course.” 

For a moment neither of you spoke. You tried to look everywhere but at his face, wondering if you could, tactfully and politely, get him to leave you alone again. Even just the few minutes of social interaction had exhausted you, and the reminder of  _ his  _ little visit had sent your heart racing. 

He didn't give you the chance.

Talking all the while, he stepped outside again. You followed him, realizing that he'd parked in your driveway and was pulling boxes out of his trunk. Wary, you came up behind him, only to breathe a sigh of relief. Only three more boxes were in his trunk, and between the two of you, you bundled all of them into your house in one trip. He talked the whole time, explaining who had given up what, and how much he hoped you'd be able to make use of the items. 

As he set the last box down, you followed suit, laying the last one on top. Stretching, you sighed. That was just one more thing you'd have to do eventually. Shaking yourself, you forced your attention back to him. He'd done a very kind thing for you; the least you could do was be grateful. 

He met your eyes with that  _ look.  _ The one that you flinched away from, because it was too  _ sympathetic _ . Like he was ready to try and solve all your problems, because he  _ just knew  _ that all you needed was more Jesus in your life. 

“I mean it, you know.” His tone was soft, his eyes gentle, and his touch too familiar as he laid a hand on your forearm. “I know it can be hard to reach out when you've been through so much, but I'm here if you need anything. I might not understand, but I'm a good listener.” 

You doubted very much that he understood. Even as he gave you words of reassurance, his hand was on your arm, and your heart was in your throat. 

“Thanks.” You breathed the word in half a whisper. 

Squeezing your arm, he finally stepped away. “I'll let you go, then. I'm close by if you need anything.” 

You watched as he finally left with a tiny wave. Locking the door behind him, you breathed a sigh of relief. You hadn't anticipated a visit, especially not one quite so draining. For a moment, you leaned against the door, forcing yourself to breathe slowly and deeply as you calmed yourself. Joseph meant well, of that you were sure, but you wished he wouldn't be so  _ goddamn physical  _ about it. He had a way of invading your space that was so unlike the careful way Robert moved around you. 

You flushed as you realized perhaps Robert was so careful around you only because you'd nearly screamed at him to “not fucking touch you.” 

Maybe  _ that  _ was the way to get everyone to just leave you alone. 

With a snort, you pushed yourself away from the door. You nearly went to the boxes, intending to see what Joseph's congregation had given up, but you thought better of it. Instead, you went to the kitchen and poured yourself a drink. Going through boxes of used stuff was  _ bound  _ to be more fun after a drink. 

It turned out, as you found out a drink and a half later, that Joseph's congregation were, in fact, very generous. The boxes held everything from a complete set of dishes to clothes that were practically new. A few people had even offered up essentials like food and toiletries. Some of the stuff you left in the boxes, to be re-donated later on. The rest, you put away, slowly. Moving sluggishly as the drinks slowed your thoughts and your movements. 

More time passed than you anticipated, and it was late by the time you settled back on your couch and, out of an old habit, checked your phone. 

An unread message blinked onto the front display. 

Your heart immediately did a backflip. Nearly choking, you tapped your passcode in and opened the unread text. It was more than an hour old. 

_ Hey. Up for a drink?  _

You hesitated.  _ Were _ you up for a drink? 

Knowing that, after Joseph's visit and the alcohol already pouring through you, you should probably attempt to sleep, you tapped out a reply. 

_ Dead tired, sorry. Next time _

It was the truth, but you felt sick to your stomach at turning him down. 

He replied almost immediately. 

_ Next time ;) _


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Robert have a movie night, and 
> 
> DRAMA HAPPENS

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, guys! It was a long day for me, but I wanted to give y'all your fix of Dadsona and Robert anyway.
> 
> I think most of you will *really* enjoy this chapter, if ya know what I mean ;) -winkwonk- 
> 
> MY SOUL BURN IS UNBEATABLE

Several more days passed in relative silence. You drank, and slept, and gradually caught up on work. You cried, and fought with yourself over whether or not to reach out to Amanda, or whether you should check up on  _ him.  _

The last you'd seen of him had been when the two police officers had him sitting on the curb with his hands cuffed behind his back. For all you knew he was out of jail and out there somewhere, waiting for you to let your guard down. You'd stopped going out onto your porch at night, terrified at the thought that he could come back. Even with the new phone and the knowledge that  _ someone _ would come to your rescue if he came back, the thought of facing him again made you sick.

The alcohol helped when those thoughts came. 

It had been several days, maybe even close to a couple weeks, since you'd last seen Robert. You'd exchanged a handful of texts, but he didn't invite you out again. Since you'd stopped sitting outside at night, you'd stopped catching him finishing his late-night walks. You were starting to miss Betsy. 

That was what you told yourself anyway, as you sat on your couch with the curtains partly open, staring out into nothingness. The evening was still young, the sun hardly beginning to set, but you were already several drinks in. Your laptop played your old favorite show quietly in the background, but you weren't paying much attention. 

Your mind was on Robert, far away as you replayed the last conversation you'd had. When he'd told you about his daughter. You'd replayed the night over and over again since then, trying, and failing, not to dwell on the feel of his touch as he'd cupped your cheek, or the way he'd focused on your mouth before disappearing into the night _.  _ Just thinking about it sent electricity down your spine and took your breath away. You tried to pretend it didn't, but there was no mistaking the unshakable feeling you had that  _ something  _ had happened between you that night and been left unresolved. 

You perked up, emerging from your thoughts as an unfamiliar car backed into the street from a house further up the cul-de-sac. From the angle, you thought they, whoever  _ they  _ might be, must have pulled out of Robert’s driveway. 

Curiosity got the better of you. 

You straightened on the couch, moving the curtain enough to watch the car as it passed your house slowly. A woman was driving--a woman with familiar black hair and dark skin. You sucked in a breath. 

Was that  _ her? _

There was no way to tell for sure, and she was gone, pulling out of the cul-de-sac, in no time. For a moment you considered texting Robert, but you decided against it. You were already feeling quite tipsy, and directly after his estranged daughter had visited was not the time to text him. 

If he wanted to talk, he’d text you.

Right?

Jumping, you woke all in an instant, staring around as you tried to figure out what had happened. You’d fallen asleep? On the couch, you ascertained as you looked around the living room. What had woken you?

You jumped again as your phone buzzed from somewhere underneath you. 

Fumbling, searching through the couch cushions, you tried to find the phone as it buzzed again and again. Was someone  _ calling  _ you?

When you finally found it, wedged under you and between the cushions, you saw that a handful of texts had come in, explaining the repeated buzzing. 

You read them, a grin stretching across your face, wider with each one.

_ Hey _

_ wyd _

_ you up? _

_ come outside _

_ don’t make me come up there _

_ come outside _

_ hey _

The string of texts ended abruptly, and you wondered if he was going to make good on his threat and come up to the door. Shaking your head, amused despite yourself, you stood and stretched. You were oddly awake, after your little nap, and as you went to the door you realized it was because you didn’t feel hungover or, for that matter, sad at all.

You tried not to think that it was because Robert finally seemed ready to hang out again. 

You were probably just still drunk.

When you opened the door, you peered into the darkness for a moment. It had gotten later than you’d realized while you slept, the night dark and impenetrable, except for a tiny spot of light at the corner of your house. 

“Hey,” You stepped outside, closing the door behind you and plunging the both of you into darkness again as you closed the light inside. You trotted toward him, watching the almost imperceptible shift as he turned to keep the smoke from blowing toward you as he exhaled. “What’s up?”

He lifted his eyes to your face, and you blinked at him through the darkness. He looked . . . rough. Rougher than usual. The usual growth of beard on his chin had lengthened some, like he’d stopped even bothering to trim it--you  _ thought  _ he must have trimmed, at least occasionally, since you’d never seen him clean-shaven. His eyes were . . . different, too. Darker, and . . . distant. Like he wasn’t totally there behind them. 

“Hey.” As he spoke, you got not only the familiar whiff of smoke, but the overpowering smell of whiskey, and you realized what it was. He was drunk. Drunk off his  _ ass,  _ now that you stopped to look at him. He swayed gently even as he stood with one shoulder pressed against the corner of your garage. His next words were slightly slurred. “You told me to do it, so I did.”

“You saw her?” You didn't think it was a good idea to mention that you'd watched her departure earlier that evening. 

“Yup. Called her up, she came over. She wants to make an  _ effort. _ ” The way he said the word made you think he didn't think much of that idea.

“That's good, isn't it?” You weren't sure what to make of his demeanor. You'd never encountered truly  _ drunk  _ Robert before. 

He shrugged, the movement exaggerated. “I dunno why she'd fuckin’ bother.” 

You stared, unused to this level of openness from him. “Why wouldn't she?” It was genuine curiosity. You knew why you were afraid to contact  _ Amanda,  _ but his reasons could be totally different. 

He looked at you, disgust written all across his features. “Because I fucked up. Over and over again, consistently. I was a terrible father, a shitty husband, and she's probably better off without me in her life.”

You paused, watching as he sucked in another breath of smoke. Trying not to get distracted, you forced your eyes to his face, unsurprised to see that he'd turned away from you to look out into the empty, night-dark cul-de-sac. “Obviously, she doesn't think so.”

The words came before you could stop them. They were the words you would have wanted to hear, in his situation. If someone had told you that Amanda thought she benefited from your presence in her life, you would have broken. Robert just turned to glare at you. 

You weren't sure why you kept talking. “ _ She  _ made the effort, didn't she? That's got to mean  _ something.” _

He didn't say anything. Just shook his head, bringing the cigarette back up to his lips. 

You bit your tongue. There wasn't much else you could say to him. What did you say to someone determined to see himself as the bad guy? 

_ The truth.  _

The treacherous thought took your breath away. You shook yourself, trying to squash the thought down. No! You couldn't. Not  _ that  _ truth. 

Maybe . . . Maybe another truth would work. 

Slowly, you spoke again, not totally sure what you meant to say. 

“You know. . . Maybe reconnecting with your daughter isn't what you need.” You saw his posture shift as he swung to face you again, his eyes centering directly on your face. “I mean! Maybe . . . Maybe it needs to be deeper than that. Like, actually working on yourself, and becoming the kind of man she'd  _ want  _ around.” 

The words sounded pathetic even as you said them, but as you watched his face through the darkness, you thought you saw his expression soften. For what felt like the thousandth time, you watched him dig a pack of gum out of his pocket and dispose of his cigarette butt. You held your breath as he put the piece of gum in his mouth, feeling your heart freeze in your chest. He focused on what he was doing for a long minute. Long enough that you looked away, realizing he was probably stalling to compose himself. 

When he finally spoke, you looked up at him, surprised. 

“Do you wanna do something?”

“Like what?” You could never be sure with Robert. Neither of you was sober enough to drive somewhere, or to be served in a bar. 

He shrugged. “Movie?” 

The idea sounded nice.  _ Too  _ nice. 

To keep your mind from wandering too near the idea of sitting beside Robert in the dark while a movie played, you instead focused on your infinitesimal collection of movies. 

“I have Inglorious Basterds, and Scott Pilgrim vs the World.”  

The only two movies that had made it, by fate, luck, or what have you, into your boxes during the move. 

“But I don't have a tv, so . . .”

You tried very hard not to think about the last time you'd been on Robert’s couch. Rubbing your neck, you looked up into his face, only to see that familiar, blank look. He shook his head, the shadow of a smirk crossing his lips. 

“Grab both. And any booze you've got. I'll see you at my place.” 

He pushed himself away from the wall as he spoke, pushing himself fractionally closer to you in the process. You caught your breath, but he was gone in an instant, turning away to walk the short distance back to his house. 

You stood for only a moment, looking after him, before jumping into action. Practically running to the house, you burst inside, your heart pounding a crazy beat behind your ribs. Your thoughts were whirling, but you didn't have time to sit and consider them. With only a few minutes to work with, you sprinted to the bathroom, where you all but slathered yourself in deodorant and brushed your teeth. Then you frantically searched the bookshelf for the movies, passing over them once or twice in your frenzy. 

Finally, alcohol and movies in hand, you found yourself on Robert’s doorstep, and finally with a moment to wonder  _ what the hell that had been about.  _

It had just been a long day; you didn't want to force Robert into sitting beside you while you stank up his place. 

That was all. 

Robert opened the door and ushered you inside with a wave. 

Last time you'd been here, you hadn't noticed many details, other than the general clutter of a house that a heavy drinking, frequently smoking, single guy lived in. It hadn't been  _ dirty,  _ just lived in. This time, as you stepped inside and toed your shoes off out of habit, you looked around and saw that it was clean. Like, not even a magazine or an empty glass on the coffee table clean. He really  _ had  _ put some effort into cleaning for his daughter, hadn't he? 

You thought it best not to comment, and instead followed him to the couch and sat down. Perching on the edge of the cushion, you watched as he immediately opened the case for Inglorious Basterds and popped the DVD into his player. As the tv flared to life, he slumped onto the couch, picking up a glass about a quarter full of an amber liquid. With a nod, he indicated an identical glass that sat on the side of the coffee table closer to you. He'd already poured you a drink? 

Your knee began to bounce, your rapid heartbeat seeking some sort of outlet as you tried to convince yourself that this was good, it was  _ fine.  _

Nevermind that it was late and you were sitting across the couch from a currently very drunk Robert. 

This was  _ totally fine.  _

_ No need to panic. _

On autopilot, you scooped up the drink and sipped it. As Robert started the movie, you shifted, pulling your legs up onto the couch and turning to lean your back against the armrest. You took the position without a thought, not even realizing that sitting this way would keep Robert in your line of sight as you watched. 

You'd gotten through ten minutes of the film, both of you occasionally sipping your drinks, before he spoke. 

“Watch a lot of Tarantino?” 

You wet your lips, swallowing. “A few here and there. This is. . . A special case.  _ He _ , uh, my ex--he didn't want me watching this kind of thing. Said it was too, I dunno, violent?” You shrugged, shrugging away the words and the heavy feel of his rules all at the same time. You'd bought this movie several months before you'd moved, keeping it hidden behind a few books on your bookshelf. Watching it while he'd been at work had been terrifying. And exhilarating. 

It was still one of your favorite films. 

Robert cast a sideways look in your direction. “Man,  _ fuck _ that guy.” 

You nearly choked on your drink, laughing even as your latest sip burned down your throat. 

“Eloquently put.” 

After that, the conversation came more easily. Drunk Robert turned out to be a pain in the ass to watch a movie with. He talked over it, fiddled with the volume every few minutes, and once or twice asked you to fill him in on what he'd missed after he got up to refresh your drinks. Still, as you sat beside him, you began to relax, enjoying the experience of seeing Robert comfortable and in his own space for the first time. 

At one point, Betsy trotted out of another room, stretching and yawning as if she'd just woken up from a nap. At the sight of you, she barked once, and launched herself toward you, clearing a good three feet as she sailed into your lap. You laughed and scratched her belly as she curled up at your side. She was asleep again in minutes. With the comfortable weight of Betsy now beside you, you gradually unfolded, stretching your legs across the couch until you were  _ almost  _ but  _ not quite _ brushing Robert’s jeans with your foot. 

Eventually, he shifted as well, sprawling a little more comfortably into the cushions, and you quickly sucked in a breath and downed your drink to drown out the spark that shot through you as his leg touched your foot. You fixed your eyes on the movie, not daring to look at him for the rest of the film as he sat with your foot pressed comfortably into his thigh. 

It wasn't until the movie drew to a close, the screen fading into black to begin the end credits, that you moved. Sitting up, you stretched your arms over your head, feeling the remnants of a pain that reminded you of the ghosts of bruises on your ribs. Betsy, disturbed by your movement, uncurled, stretched, and leaped down from the couch to pad over to a tiny dog bed. Watching the dogs movements, you moved to stand up.

Robert’s hand suddenly on your arm stopped you.

“Where do you think  _ you’re  _ going?” He glowered at you from his place sunken into the couch cushions.

“Uh,” You tried to laugh off the way you’d stiffened at his touch. Hoping desperately that he wouldn’t realized that his touch was electricity across your skin. “I was gonna go make another drink.” 

“Nuh-uh.” His fingers tightened on your arm, and you sucked in a breath. “All those people on that screen?” He tipped his head toward the tv, where the credits rolled. “They all worked really hard to bring this movie to your television. We’re gonna sit here and appreciate them.” 

You shook your head, his intensity totally inappropriate for the situation. Truthfully, you were trying not to laugh. “Y’know, there’s this magical thing called  _ Pausing. _ ” 

He considered that, and slowly withdrew his hand, reaching for the remote.

Still chuckling, you got up and made yourself the drink you’d been considering. The previous two were coursing, hot and tingly, through your blood, but you only felt a little warm, a little sleepy, and a bit more relaxed than you’d felt earlier. When you joined Robert again, you saw that he had, indeed, paused the tv, waiting for you to come appreciate the whole cast and crew of the movie. You plumped yourself down on the couch beside him, telling yourself it was because you were too lazy to move all the way to the other end. 

He glanced sideways at you, but said nothing as he pushed play once more.

The credits went back to scrolling, and he almost immediately started reading names off, seemingly at random.

“Look at that dude, great job with those lights.” 

You sat beside him, paying far more attention to  _ him  _ than to the movie. You tried, you really did, but you couldn’t keep your eyes from settling on his face, watching as he focused all his attention on the credits. 

It was crazy, absolutely insane, that you’d ever thought that Robert looked like  _ him.  _

Sure, there were some vague similarities. The skin-tone was similar, and the dark hair, of course. The general height and build, obviously.

But his features were so different. His eyes deeper set, his mouth quicker to twist into a good-humored smirk. His lips more suited to smiles than to frowns, even though he tried so hard to convince everyone around him that it was the opposite. He had a dusting of gray in his hair and beard, and--.

Your breath froze in your lungs as he looked sideways at you, tearing his attention away from the movie credits.

“What?” 

His eyes were infinitely softer. Deeper. Darker than  _ his  _ blue eyes ever could have been. It was his eyes that held you in place, frozen like the first time you’d been pinned under his intense gaze. Except this time, you were pinned there by your own mind, and not his eyes. 

“N-nothing.” You quickly looked away, but too late to avoid any suspicion. He knew you’d been staring at him, drinking in his appearance. “Just . . . appreciating all these people for their hard work. Look at Zoe, she did a great job casting those actors, huh?” 

He didn’t say anything more, but you could feel his eyes on you for several moments before he turned back to the tv.

You watched the rest of the credits in silence. 

When the last logo had rolled to the top of the screen, you unfroze, each of your movements careful and distinct as you stood up and drained your drink. “I should . . . I should probably get home. It’s late.” 

“Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair, standing it on end. “I’ll walk out with you, I need a smoke.” 

With Robert trailing after you, acutely aware of his presence just behind you, you moved to the door and stepped outside.

The cold night air touched you with a chill, trailing a shiver down your spine. It felt nice, after the whiskey that burned through you, bringing prickling heat to your skin. You took a deep breath, feeling Robert behind you as he walked to the edge of his porch. You turned toward him just in time to see him lifting a lighter to the cigarette dangling from his mouth. 

Your heart stopped. He was a bare few inches away, and without knowing exactly why, you stepped even closer. He turned his head and released a breath of fragrant smoke, doing what he could to keep it from touching you, but you couldn’t avoid inhaling the smell of it. Lowering the cigarette, he cleared his throat and moved to step back.

“Sorry, I’ll-” 

You didn’t let him finish.

Moving forward, any conscious thought pushed out of your mind by the overwhelming, burning,  _ befuddling  _ scent of the smoke, you pressed your mouth to his.

He let out a soft sigh of surprise, only heightening the taste of smoke and nicotine on your mouth. One of his hands found your hip, pulling you closer, maintaining the kiss as he met you with surprising enthusiasm.

The contact lasted no more than a moment before your mind snapped back into reality.

_ Shit. Shit! No! _

Heart racing, threatening to burst, you pulled away. Throwing up a hand, you touched your own mouth, like you could erase the reality of what you’d done. “Fuck, I’m--I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have--I didn’t--” You didn’t know what you were saying. Your thoughts were racing, your heart pounding, and a sudden, sickening wave of panic washing over you with the threat of tears. 

_ You can’t. You Can’t! You can’t do that! _

He reached toward you, but you pulled back. “I need to go.” 

Reminded strongly of the night of the barbecue-- _ You ran away then, too, coward-- _ you turned and walked away. You took a deep breath, tensing for his touch, half expecting him to come after you, to grab you. To pull you back and make you give him what you owed. But he didn't. 

You looked back as you reached the safety of the sidewalk, but he was already inside. 

You weren't sure what you thought of that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You deal with the fallout from your accidental Kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little Triggery for general PTSD and trauma-related feels. 
> 
> Also AAAAAHHHHH Thanks for 6k hitss!!! I've been keeping up pretty well with this fic, so I've got enough chapters to carry me through November.
> 
> Speaking of: November is cominggggggg!!! I hope y'all will keep reading my fic through November, and have patience if I stop updating at all ever, cuz I *may or may not* run out of content halfway through December. Either way, thanks for reading, thanks for all your lovely comments, your kudos, everything. I appreciate all you readers so much <3
> 
> Oh also!!! Happy Asexuality Awareness Week!! To all my Ace readers <3

His text came while you were in the bathroom, sitting under a scalding shower and fighting the urge to vomit.

It wasn't Robert who made your stomach sick, of course. It wasn't Robert’s hands you could feel on your body, nor Robert’s tongue you could feel in your mouth. It was _his,_ the shadow of his touch still on your arms, your stomach, and . . . Other parts of you.

You were too numb, too surprised by what had happened between you and Robert, to even cry. All you could do was sit and try to make some sort of sense out of your thoughts.

There wasn't much sense to be made.

The instinctual fear had washed all rational thought away, so when you finally stepped out of the shower--only after the hot water ran cold--it was habit that made you check your phone as you poured yourself a heavy drink.

The texts flashed onto your lock screen, and you felt your gut tense with the urge to vomit again.

_everything okay?_

_hope i didn't do anything to make you uncomfortable._

_hmu when you can_

They were over an hour old, coming in only minutes after you'd left his house.

You drank half the vodka you'd poured in one go, swallowing the liquid fire like it didn't faze you. There was nothing you could say to Robert without revealing even more of your shameful past. Thankful that, at least, he hadn't tried to make you stay instead of letting you leave, you stared at your phone for what seemed like an hour, sipping straight vodka and trying to decide what you could say.

You knew you were drunk by the time you found the courage to reply, but you didn't care.

The sun peeped in through your kitchen window as you tapped out your reply, pausing every few seconds to erase and rewrite the text.

~~_I'm sorry_ ~~

~~_You didn't do_~~  
  
~~_Everything is_~~

 _It's okay._ _~~I shouldn't have~~ _ _I didn't mean_ ~~_to kiss you_ ~~

_~~for that to happen~~ _ _for things to go down the way they did._ ~~_Please don't_ ~~

~~_You can forget it_ ~~

_~~I can't give you what you~~ _ _I hope you can understand it's_ ~~_hard_ ~~

_~~Difficult~~ _ _painful for me to talk about what happened tonight._ ~~_It's_ _his fault_~~

~~_it's my fault_ ~~

_~~I'm broken~~ _ _This kind of_ ~~_relationship_ ~~ _thing is scary for me, and I don't want to_ _~~lead you on~~ _

~~_make you think I_ ~~

~~_be a wh_ ~~ _give you false hope for_ ~~_a relationship_ ~~

_~~something physical~~ _ _anything I'm not able to give you right now. Thank you so much for_ ~~_letting me go_ ~~

~~_not chasing after me_ ~~

~~_stopping when I needed to_ ~~

_understanding. I_ _think I ~~really like you~~ _ _might need some time alone. I_ ~~_wish I could let you in_ ~~

~~_wish I wasn't broken_ ~~

~~_wish I could give you what you want_ ~~ _don't know when, but I'll let you know when I'm_ _~~better~~ _ _okay._

After erasing and changing so many things, you could only hope that your meaning came across clearly. There was no denying to yourself--or to your drunk brain--that you'd tried to type something incriminating and you were hiding _a lot_. But you hoped he would understand.

The door was locked in case he didn't.

 

\---

 

Eventually, you fell into fitful sleep on the couch, your laptop playing your old favorite cartoon softly in the background. You woke what seemed like every few minutes, realizing every time that the sun sneaking in through your kitchen window was brighter as the day progressed. You tossed and turned, sometimes feeling like you were not quite awake and not quite asleep either, hovering somewhere in a gray land of half-asleep.

You must have really fallen asleep at some point, because when you woke, your laptop was black, asleep after being inactive for too long, and your head pounded with the inevitable hangover. Rolling over on the couch, you tapped your laptop back to life. It blinked awake, far more quickly than you ever could, and you played the next episode of the show.

Your mind wasn't exactly clear. So you lay for a long minute letting yourself adjust. Part of you was hoping that you'd made up or dreamed the events of the previous night, but the rest of you was too smart--or too self-hating--to believe that. You'd done probably the stupidest thing possible last night.

Right after he'd opened up to you about his daughter, too.

Now he would think he had a shot at something _else_ happening between you. You shuddered at the thought. You weren't strong enough to convince him otherwise, if that was what he really wanted.

Maybe it would be better to cut things off right now, before he started _expecting_ things.

Trying to distract yourself, you turned the volume on the show up, hoping to drown out your thoughts. It took you several more minutes to find the energy to push yourself off the couch, and a handful of minutes shuffling around the kitchen before you found a clean glass. The water helped, but there was only so much water could do.

Water couldn't erase the feel of Robert’s lips against yours, or the distinctive, not entirely unpleasant taste of his brand of cigarettes on your tongue. Of course, alcohol hadn't really done much either, other than make your mind fuzzy and warm, like it was full of bees. It hadn't erased the memory of the look in his eyes after you'd pulled away: confused, and a little bit surprised, but not angry. Not possessive.

Not like _his_ eyes had been any time you tried to enforce boundaries.

Surprised, you realized tears had welled in your eyes, spilling as you mulled over your horrendous mistake. You'd held it together pretty well so far, you thought, but as your sober mind turned the event over and over again, you realized you'd simply been too numb, too scared, and too drunk to really react to what had happened.

This wasn't like the crashing, crushing realization the day you'd moved in. This was like a slow weight, settling on your shoulders and bearing down on you until you were crushed before you realized it was too heavy to bear. The tears began to fall slowly, and the awful, hated quivering returned, shaking you from the deepest reaches of your soul.

You couldn't believe you'd been so _stupid._

_Stupid mistake, you should know better!_

Truthfully, you hadn't _meant_ to kiss him at all. You hadn't thought about him in that capacity _at all_ since meeting him. Minus the handful of times he'd prompted you to do so, you amended. The fact that you were thinking about him that way _now_ brought a sob clawing out of your throat. You clenched your hands into fists, trying through sheer force of will to stop it, but it was too late.

You'd ruined everything.

You were a whore, and a tease, and you'd be lucky if he ever forgot what you'd done.

Now things would be like they'd been with _him_. You'd moved away to find freedom, not to sell yourself to the next bidder.

A sudden, almost painful surge of anger took you. Yelling, you threw the glass you'd filled with water and then emptied again in a matter of minutes, to the floor. It shattered, sending shards scattering across the kitchen tile.

Another sob wracked you, and you stumbled back to the couch.

The show you'd started again played softly in the background as you cried.

He _had_ to be different.

He _had_ to be.

You wouldn't survive if he was the same.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally, *finally* spill the last of your secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are y'all ready for some honesty to god Ace!Rep?? 
> 
> Cuz *I* sure am!!
> 
> Thanks for reading, lovelies <3

One interesting, and, quite frankly, annoying thing about having neighbors who knew you, was the fact that they made it practically impossible for you to disappear. You'd dug yourself into a routine in the handful of months you'd lived in their cul-de-sac, one that included regular visits to the coffee shop one of your neighbors owned. Apparently, in the kind of neighborhood this was, breaking that routine for a certain number of days was a cause for concern. 

Mat was just the first to visit. He showed up at your door on one of your “good” days, when you'd managed to shower and brush your teeth, and even get a little work done. You brushed his concern away, promising that everything was fine and you were just busy with work. Too busy to leave your house for a week straight, yes, was that so hard to believe? 

Mat was a hard one to fool, even on a  _ really  _ good day, but he'd left you alone, even though the look on his face said he wanted to do anything but.

Joseph stopped by next, more than a week later. Bearing a tray of cookies, he'd asked if everything was alright. 

You excused your lack of hygiene and rough appearance by saying you'd been sick. It wasn't an outright lie, even though it felt like one. He left you the cookies and a lingering touch on your forearm, that sent you directly to the kitchen to pour another drink.

The cookies, at least, kept you from starving. 

You couldn't remember exactly what you'd been doing for most of the days, or how long it had been, but the emptiness was pockmarked by visits from the neighbors. That was how you told time; by how many visits you got. How many concerned expressions and wrinkled brows. How many kind touches on the arm or shoulder. How many plates of baked goods delivered by Mat or Joseph. You'd lost track of how many bottles you'd worked through, and how many times you'd gone out--early enough that seeing Robert was guaranteed not to happen--to buy more.

And how many texts delivered at odd hours of the night from Robert.

The texts were the worst part. 

He seemed to be taking your absence in stride. Occasionally you wondered if he even cared to get a response, or if he was just texting to have an outlet. 

He'd taken to telling you about his daughter. Her name was Val, she was 25, and she was happy. In a long-term relationship, had her own business. They'd started having weekly meetings, to reconnect. 

You suspected that most of his texts came after those meetings, when he was drunk in the middle of the night. 

One night, you couldn't have even managed a  _ guess _ how long after the night you'd kissed him, he texted you while you were just drunk enough, while not  _ too  _ drunk, to respond. 

You blinked, bleary-eyed, at the text when it came in. You were so used to getting them by now that seeing his name pop up on your screen didn't faze you. 

The words  _ under  _ his name, on the other hand. 

Your phone vibrated again and again as a string of texts came in. You watched, your heart gradually working its way higher and higher into your throat with each new one.

_ are we ever gonna talk about what happened?  _

_ or you gonna keep ignoring me? _

_ i know you said you need time alone _

_ but its been weeks.  _

Robert was keeping track of how long it'd been, apparently. 

You breathed deeply, trying to steady yourself in anticipation. You didn't have a good excuse for why you'd stopped talking to him, stopped doing  _ anything _ . 

Your hands shook as you replied. 

_ Come over? _

_ Just give me 30 mins _

You set the phone down, letting out a shaky breath as you did. Without waiting to see if he'd reply, you stood up. It had been one of the bad days, today. One of the days where you couldn't find the energy or motivation to shower or brush your teeth. You'd barely managed to drag yourself out of bed and to the couch, and that had only been because your laptop--and your only source of distraction--had been on the couch.

This, at least, was an excuse to shower. 

You had just stepped out of the bathroom, hair still damp and breath minty-fresh, when you heard him knock on your front door. 

Your heart did that familiar flip-flop. You weren't nearly drunk enough to handle this. Feeling your heart sinking with dread, you opened the door for him.

“Hey.”

You stared, blinking back your surprise. He was, for the first time since you'd met him, clean shaven. You were pretty certain he was sober, too. That fact threw a wrench into your plans; you'd been expecting to start the night on even footing. 

“Hey.” Startled by his clean appearance, you stepped aside to let him in. 

The second he was inside, you locked the door behind him and moved away. This had seemed like such a good idea thirty minutes ago--finally confronting your fears and coming clean. That was supposed to be healthy, right? 

Now your mouth was dry and you could feel your heart working overtime as the reality of your plan set it. He wanted to  _ talk.  _

Restless, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was watching you quietly, you moved around the room at random. You picked up your empty glass from the coffee table and carried it to the kitchen. You closed your laptop and set it out of the way. All the while, you avoided looking in his direction, knowing that if you met his eye, it was all over. 

“Hey,” his tone caught your attention, but the hand he reached out toward you claimed it all in an instant. You flinched, but he didn't touch you. Like he'd meant to catch your arm--or your hand--but had stopped himself at the last instant. “Sit down, you're making me nervous.” 

You obeyed, perching on the edge of the couch, your hands clasped tightly in front of you. Your knee began to bounce. Sitting down was one thing; keeping still was another thing entirely. Sneaking a glance at him, you were just in time to watch as he sat down too,  _ right next to you.  _

He sat close enough that his arm brushed yours. 

The contact sent electricity racing through you, and you shifted immediately, turning your back to the arm of the couch and curling your knees up to your chest. This left you facing him, with nowhere to look but into his face, but at least now you didn't have to touch him. 

Meeting his eye, you swallowed. 

“I'm sorry.” 

The words left you in a breathless whisper. You dropped your gaze immediately, sucking in a deep breath.

Shifting to face you more fully, he leaned one elbow on the back of the couch, resting his head on his closed fist. Everything about his posture was relaxed, but even you could see that there was stiffness there. Possibly nervousness? 

“What could you  _ possibly  _ be sorry for?” 

You flinched at the blunt tone. 

But it sure got an answer out of you. The words spilled out of you automatically, like you'd been practicing them for ages. “For being a tease. Or leading you on. I shouldn't have. . . shouldn't have done  _ that.”  _ It wasn't until after you'd said the words that you realized they were the same words  _ he’d  _ said to you for years. 

_ Whore.  _

_ Tease.  _

“Done  _ what?” _

With a fleeting glance at him, you saw his expression hadn't changed. He was watching you with an intensity that nearly scared you. Forcing the words out past the lump rising in your throat, you managed them in a whisper. “I shouldn't have kissed you.” 

When he laughed, you looked up at him, nearly offended. You frowned, watching the way his face changed when he laughed, and the softness in his eyes as he met your gaze. “You don't have to apologize for that. I was . . . Surprised, but hell, that doesn't mean I didn't like it.” 

_ That's not the good news you think it is, Small.  _

You flinched as he reached, very carefully, to rest a hand on one of your knees. His touch sent a shudder through you, and as you looked up into his face again you realized he  _ knew  _ that it did. But he was touching you anyway. 

“That's not a reason to disappear for weeks, though. Tell me what's going on.” 

“I can't!” The words wrenched themselves out of you at the same time you brushed his hand away. Heat rose in your face, and you knew this was it. This was the moment that would send him running. “I fucking  _ can't.  _ I'm--I’m not  _ into  _ people that way. Not usually.” Swallowing, you took a quick breath and plunged on. “I haven't thought about you that way  _ even once _ since we met.”  _ Except for that night.  _  “Even if I  _ had,  _ I--I just couldn't. I can't give you  _ that.”  _

Faltering to a stop, you lowered your head to your arms, curling even tighter into yourself. “I thought I was into  _ him _ that way. But he never gave me the chance to find out for myself.” 

For a long minute it was quiet. You half expected him to get up and leave without saying a word. Wouldn't anyone have done the same in his shoes? What could you offer him if anything physical was off the table? 

What had you offered  _ him,  _ anyway? 

The thought stilled you. What  _ had _ he gotten out of the relationship? 

He'd gotten  _ you. All of you.  _ Even the parts of yourself you hadn't been willing to give up--he'd gotten them eventually, and you'd been  _ his.  _ There just to keep him happy, at all costs. 

But you wouldn't give that to Robert. He stood to gain  _ nothing _ from you. 

“Hey,” with a gentle voice, Robert brought your eyes back to his face as you lifted your head. “That's  _ okay.”  _

You blinked. 

“I've had more than enough sex. I haven't exactly been,” he paused, searching for the right word. “Picky.” 

Now it was your turn to watch his face intently while he avoided your eyes. “After my wife passed, I didn't see the point. She was the only one I'd ever had those feelings for. But then I--well, things got bad. I slept with anyone who would have me. It was the easiest--maybe the only way I could think of to connect with people. To feel something,  _ anything. _ ” 

You blinked, trying to connect this new information with the image you already had of Robert. Tough, quiet, impersonal Robert, who used  _ sex  _ as a way to connect with people. In a weird sort of way, it made sense. 

He'd fallen quiet, and you, carefully, hesitantly, uncurled from your defensive posture. He cast a sideways glance at you. Not quite sure why you did it, you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder. He chuckled, the sound little more than a rough breath leaving him. 

“He was  _ that  _ kind of asshole, huh?”

The words were terrifying for the level of understanding in them. Nodding, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your cheek, you sucked in a sharp breath. “I didn't  _ matter _ . All that mattered was that I was there for him whenever he--whenever he wanted me.”

Gently, he laid a hand on your knee, squeezing, but saying nothing. 

You sat together like that for a long time. His hand resting on your knee, and your head leaning against his shoulder as neither of you spoke. There'd been a lot of words already. Eventually, you reached out to touch his hand. He flipped it palm-up, and you could feel his smile against your hair as you traced the lines of his palm, stopping to run your fingers over every callous and scar you found. 

That same smile pressed a kiss against your hair a moment later. “I think I should go.” 

You sat up at once, finding that you couldn't quite meet his eye as both of you stood. A lot had been said tonight, but you felt like several important things had been left unsaid. It was probably better that way. 

You walked behind him to the door, and as he opened it to let himself out, you caught his arm, surprising even yourself. 

As he looked up at you, his eyebrows raised in question, you forced the words out before you could second-guess them. 

“I lied. I  _ have  _ thought about you that way. At least, I think I have. But I can't--I won't just  _ be okay. _ I don't know if I'll ever be able to--” 

“Hey,” he cut you off, and you fell quiet, flushing. You'd been rambling. With a smirk, he crowded you in that old, familiar way of his; pressing into your space without actually touching you. You shrank back slightly. “Can I kiss you?”

You were too shocked to do anything but blink up at him for a long moment. Then you shook your head, your heart leaping up into your throat as you realized what you'd done. 

He smiled. “I'll see you around.” Squeezing your hand, he stepped outside, the familiar movement as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket pulling your own smile to your lips. 

You watched until he'd turned the corner of your garage, your heart smashing through your ribs every time it pulsed. As you finally closed the door, you sagged against it, numb from this totally new feeling. 

The feeling of being, for once in your life, in control. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I headcanon Robert as demisexual/demiromantic and hypersexual! He seems like the kinda person who doesn't *just* use substances to cope.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You start making some positive changes in your life, and have a nice conversation with Mat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, alright, this is kinda filler.
> 
> But I can't give you drama every chapter, alright?
> 
> Thanks for reading, lovelies <3

You woke the next day feeling better than you had in weeks. 

Which actually left you still feeling pretty shitty. 

The previous night’s events had run through your mind again and again, even as you'd slept. Now that you were awake, you had some time to consider them. 

You'd told Robert your deepest, most shameful secret. 

And he'd said it was  _ okay? _

Never, in your whole life, had anyone ever told you it was  _ okay.  _

Your high school boyfriend had said you were just a prude. Too afraid to take that next step. He'd accused you of being scared, of being too afraid to accept that you were gay. 

It had never occurred to him that maybe you  _ weren't  _ gay.

And then  _ he.  _ He'd been the only other one, practically. There had been a few girls, in middle and high school, who had mostly thought you were sweet for not pressuring them, or who'd been confused when you needed more time than them to be “ready.” Other than them,  _ he  _ was it. 

And he'd told you you were wrong.

_ Broken.  _

_ A tease.  _

And somehow,  _ also  _ a whore. 

Never, in all your life, had anyone told you that it was okay to not want  _ that. _

Until last night. 

As you sat down to breakfast--the first time you could remember preparing any in days--you remembered something you'd said to Robert so many weeks ago. Something that, the night before, you'd been too distracted to consider. 

Something that Robert had, apparently, taken to heart. 

_ Be the kind of man she'd want to have around.  _

It was always easier to give advice than to take your own. Robert seemed so much better than he had been. He was putting in the effort to improve himself, and become someone his daughter would want to be around. 

You spent the better part of your day mulling over that thought. Even as you dragged yourself into the shower and brushed your teeth for the second day in a row, it criss-crossed your thoughts. Even as you settled in to catch up on some of the work that had been piling up. 

Changing yourself wasn't going to make up for the horrible things Amanda had witnessed growing up. But maybe it would be enough to convince her that things would be different going forward. Or that they  _ could be.  _

The idea terrified you.

If you'd been her, you never would have given yourself a second chance. You didn't blame her in the slightest for escaping while she could. 

She was braver than you. 

Something that had taken you nearly two decades to figure out had taken her half the time. She'd been brave enough to  _ act,  _ and ultimately, it had been her action that had given you the courage to leave, too. 

Without her to protect, what had there been to make you stay? 

You mulled these thoughts over as you worked, tapping away at the keys. The words came almost without effort, leaving your mind free to wander. 

It was almost too late when you realized it had wandered to her social media profile. 

Sucking in a breath, you looked at her profile for the first time. You'd seen her picture before, of course. It was her, smiling on the steps of a building you didn't recognize. She looked happy. Carefree. You'd stared at that picture enough times that it almost--but only  _ almost-- _ didn't even make your heart twinge with longing any more. 

Maybe it would be better to leave her alone. 

You clicked through her profile. 

You couldn't glean much from it; her privacy settings were solid. But every so often, there was a picture she'd been tagged in, or a status she'd left open to the public. She looked happy in the pictures. Most of them were with friends, in restaurants or outdoors. 

Maybe she was better off without you. 

She'd gotten out. 

Made a life for herself in spite of everything she'd been through. 

Who were you to interrupt the life she'd built, away from all the yelling and violence? 

_ Nobody. Yet.  _

Slamming your laptop closed, you stood up. 

It was time for you to take your own advice. 

 

\---

 

You fell into the habit, over the next couple days, of texting Robert updates on your progress.

He'd been texting you for weeks about his progress with Val, so you didn't think he'd mind. He actually replied more often than not--though usually several hours after you'd originally texted him. Sometimes it was nothing more than a smiley emoji, and sometimes he replied with thoughtful words, encouraging you to keep up the effort.

The encouragement helped more than you thought he suspected. 

Somehow, it hadn't occurred to you that reversing several years’ worth of what you'd recently come to think of as abuse would be so difficult. 

There were days where just getting out of bed was your greatest achievement. Those days felt like failures, when you compared them to the days you cleaned the house, did your work, or ate enough that your stomach wasn't a heavy pit of emptiness by the end of the night. 

It was funny, how being empty could feel so heavy.

The first time you went to the Coffee Spoon after your Bad Few Weeks, Mat met you almost the instant you stepped inside. You flinched back as he came at you, but he didn't try to touch you beyond slapping you lightly on the arm. 

“Glad to see you back!” He said it without inflection, but as you met his eyes you had an idea he understood. There was something behind his words that made you think that he might get it more than he let on, 

“Yeah, it was a rough couple weeks.” It was an understatement, but he nodded along as though he understood. “Thanks for the visits, and all the grateful (banana) bread.” Truthfully, his visits had been some of the only bright spots in the last month or so, and his gifts of baked goods the only thing you'd eaten all day on more than one occasion. 

He made your order quickly, without having to be asked. It was nice to be a regular somewhere, especially when the owner happened to be your neighbor. You tried to stop him, but he handed you a cookie with your drink as well, grinning as he did. 

“I'm just glad to see you back up and at it.” He said, his eyes twinkling at you. 

You were glad to  _ be  _ back up. 

It was one of those odd facts of life that you often didn't know just  _ how  _ shitty something was until it wasn't happening any more. Being free and away from  _ his  _ influence had been the first hint that your life hadn't exactly been all that great. Now, putting in the effort to better yourself and your life was another piece in the puzzle. Putting in the effort felt good, and seeing the tiny amounts of progress you made just made it all feel worth it. 

You were doing it for Amanda. 

But in a way, you were also doing it for  _ you _ .

Because in the long run, while Amanda would benefit from your changes,  _ you  _ were the one who would benefit most.

It was an odd thought, one that made you pause as you took the first sip of your mocha. 

“Your daughter thinks you’re cool, right?” You looked up at Mat, the thought coming out of nowhere.

He blinked, his smile growing. “She does not. But we manage.” 

“Do you ever worry she’ll grow up resenting you?” 

His answer came at once, his confidence blowing you away. “No. Never.” When you looked at him in dumb surprise, he went on. “Carmanista and I--we’re all we've got now. She's growing up, and change  _ happens  _ when someone grows up. But I try not to let that affect how I treat her. She's gotta have the freedom to make her own choices, and she knows she can talk to me if she needs to. We might grow apart, especially when she reaches high school, but that's a part of life. I didn't have a kid just to keep her around. She needs to flourish.” 

You listened to him speak without interrupting him. It made sense, of course. And, as you thought back on the years you'd spent with Amanda, you liked to  _ think _ that you'd done what you could to help her. To protect her. 

_ She didn't tell you she was leaving, though.  _

Could you blame her? For not feeling like she could trust you enough to let you in on her plans? 

Mat’s eyes hadn’t left your face while you considered, and you finally looked back up at him after a moment, smiling. “It sounds like she’ll do  _ great.  _ You guys are lucky to have each other.” 

His expression softened slightly, and he smiled. “You know you make cryptic conversation when something’s on your mind?” He asked.

You blinked, flushing. He’d caught you off guard. “I do not.” 

“You do!” He laughed, and you wondered if he somehow  _ knew  _ what was on your mind. “But it’s okay. I’m always here if you want to talk. Even if you won’t tell me what it’s about.” 

“Thanks,” You shuffled your feet, not sure what else to say. Embarrassed that somehow, over the handful of months you’d lived here, you’d managed to make another friend. 

Mat didn’t talk to you much for the rest of the time you were there, but as you worked on your laptop, he was always in the background. 

The cookie he’d given you was so good you bought a few more on your way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for anyone wondering, NaNo is going great!
> 
> If anyone else is participating, feel free to follow me on the NaNo site under Lady_Eemia.
> 
> Otherwise, once November is over, I'll be posting my novel on Wattpad, so I'll be sure to share a link when the time comes :)


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops! Drama happens
> 
> You're busy making progress and improving your life, when you slip up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter is shorter than I remember.
> 
> Oh well.
> 
> Thanks for reading, plz leave comments and kudos <3

Progress was harder work than you’d anticipated. 

You’d  _ anticipated  _ hard work. Nothing changed in a day, and even you had to admit that you were so far gone  _ any  _ change toward positive was a huge deal. 

But somehow you hadn’t anticipated just how rough it would be.

You were making progress, though. 

It wasn’t until one day a few weeks after your talk with Robert, when you were holed up in a corner of The Coffee Spoon, that you realized exactly how much progress you’d made. 

You’d gotten into the habit, again, of doing your work in the coffee shop. The change of scenery made it easier for you to focus, and the gentle background noise of Mat and his customers kept you from going totally insane. You tended to get a lot more work done on the days you walked to the shop than on the days you tried to work inside. But even you had to admit that a mocha every single day probably wasn’t the best choice. 

Getting out of the house a few days a week also seemed to make everything easier. You were a hermit at heart, but having occasional interactions with someone you liked reinforced the idea that you were real and human, and not just a phantom floating invisibly through the world.

You were in the middle of your work, entirely focused on the words on your screen, when the door opened. The bells above it jingled, and you glanced up, your mind still solidly on your work but distracted by the noise. For a fraction of a second you were still so intent on your work that you didn’t register who it was. 

When that instant ended, you were already too far gone to react. 

It wasn't like all the times you'd mistaken Robert for  _ him.  _ It wasn't the second of panic followed by a flood of relief as you realized who it was. 

It was instantaneous, your whole body stiffening and your mind going blank as you saw him. 

_ His  _ eyes swept over you at first. Like he hadn't noticed you. You held your breath, averting your eyes, hoping against hope that he wouldn't see you. 

But as you glanced at him again, you saw that he'd stopped just inside the doorway, staring. You met his eyes for an instant, before quickly looking away again. This was it. You were done for. 

As  _ he  _ started toward you across the shop, you were already a ghost again, a shadowy imprint of yourself, left behind to fool others into thinking you were still there, while you hid. 

You shrank into your chair, closing your laptop out of old habit. 

_ Protect yourself, don’t let him see what you’re working on. _

_ What the  _ fuck  _ is he doing here? _

Even as you shrank into yourself, your mind began to whirl. You had nowhere to escape to, no recourse as he approached. You were stuck. Trapped. 

And he was  _ coming to talk to you.  _

Before you could think how to react, you caught movement from the counter. Distracted, you looked just in time to see Mat practically vault the counter, moving so quickly you were startled as he pushed his way in front of you. 

“You need to leave.” He raised both arms, his stance unthreatening, but his posture unrelenting. You caught your breath, startled and relieved all at the same time that he would jump so quickly to your defense. 

_ He  _ fell back a step, but he didn't turn away. “I didn't come in here  _ looking  _ for him or anything.”  _ His  _ eyes caught yours again over Mat’s shoulder, and you cringed. “I just wanna talk.” 

“No!” The word ripped itself out of you before you knew you meant to say it. “Go away!”

Mat advanced, his arms still stretched out on either side. “You need to go, now. Or I'll have to call the cops.” His tone left no room for argument, but  _ he  _ ignored him. 

“Just ten minutes. I swear I didn't come here to find you, but since we're here. . .” 

His voice pounded into your ears like nails. Like a power drill screwing red-hot metal into your brain. It squeezed your lungs so you couldn't breath, and your throat so you weren't sure you'd ever speak again. 

Mat cast a look over his shoulder at you. “I'm calling the cops. If he comes anywhere  _ near you _ \--” he left the sentence hanging, but you understood. 

But just because you understood, didn't mean you'd let him put himself in danger for you. 

As Mat stepped away, you hardly acknowledged him, staring at  _ him  _ to see if he made any moves toward you. He’d never hit you in public, before; public scenes weren’t his thing, unless he was humiliating you or trying to make you look like the bad guy in a situation  _ he’d  _ caused. So as Mat stepped out from the defensive posture he’d taken up between the two of you, you didn’t feel  _ safe  _ exactly, but you knew that he probably wasn’t going to try and hurt you.

“What the fuck do you want?” You made your voice hard, not quite meeting his eyes as you glared in his direction. 

He took a step closer, but you scrambled out of your chair, backing away from him. To your relief, he stopped, sighing. “I want you to come home.” 

“I  _ am  _ home.” You tried not to look at his face. At the pathetic way his mouth drooped and his eyes pleaded. He’d always been so good at playing pretend.

“That’s a lie, and you know it!” 

As he raised his voice, you cringed, casting a look toward Mat where he stood behind the counter, phone to his ear and eyes glued on you. His presence reassured you, and the knowledge that he was on the phone with the police even more so. 

_ He  _ went on. “This isn’t your home! I saw that house. It’s falling apart, and we’re practically in the middle of nowhere!” His voice kept rising, and you could see all the tell-tale signs that he was getting angry. His face turning red, his fists clenching into tight balls at his sides. “You left me  _ alone!  _ I have to wake up every morning without you, and try to explain to my friends where you went and why.” 

Despite knowing it was a bad idea, you replied. You couldn’t keep the poison out of your voice. “Oh, you poor  _ thing.  _ I never stopped to think how escaping from the hell hole of our relationship would affect  _ you!”  _ His expression shifted, the old, familiar frown crossing his face, but you just laughed.

Suddenly, like a bolt out of the blue, it hit you.

_ He  _ didn’t matter. 

None of this mattered. 

You’d gotten away from him, and now he was desperately trying to get you back under his control.

But there was nothing making you stay and talk to him. You didn’t have to give him the time of day. 

The realization warmed you, like a sudden rush of calming water, enveloping you as you felt your fears, worries, and anxieties melting away. “I want you to leave.” The words came out softly, and you met his eye for the first time since he’d walked into the shop. 

“But--”

“I  _ said:  _ I want you to  _ leave.  _ Leave me the fuck alone.” You watched as his expression shifted, from the furrowed eyebrows of anger to the sudden, wide-eyed look of surprise. “I don’t want to be with you anymore, I don’t want anything to do with you. Just  _ leave me alone. _ ” 

His face crumpled back into that familiar frown, and he stepped toward you. His fists clenched at his sides, and you tensed. You wanted to flinch, to close your eyes and cover your head, and just wait for it to be over like you always did. 

Before you could do more than fall back a step, Mat swooped in again.

Mat’s hand fell heavily on  _ his  _ shoulder. As you watched, Mat pulled  _ him  _ around, and pushed him, roughly, toward the door.

“You heard him,” Mat’s voice didn’t hold any anger, but there was a warning there that you couldn’t mistake. “Get out. And feel free to hang around, the police are  _ very  _ interested in why you’re coming after the man whose house you just broke into recently.” 

You watched as Mat escorted  _ him  _ to the door.  _ He  _ struggled, shrugging out of Mat’s grip, but only to straighten his jacket and walk out of the shop himself. He cast a look in your direction as he left, his eyes dark and his face full of anger.

That was a look that would have put the fear of god into you once upon a time. Now, even as you shuddered under his gaze, you wondered how you’d ever justified being so scared of the man who claimed to love you. Only after he’d disappeared from view did you relax, sagging against the table and barely catching yourself as you collapsed into your chair. 

“Fuck.” 

Mat came and rested a hand on your shoulder, his fingers tightening slightly as you took a huge, shaking breath.

“ _ Shit. _ ” 

“You, my friend,” Mat shook his head as you looked up at him, his expression grim. “Sure know how to pick them.” 

You laughed, because if you didn’t laugh, you would cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those curious, I'm now at roughly 23k words for NaNoWriMo! 
> 
> Progress is steady, and I'm learning to really love the characters. Can't wait till December when I'm going to start editing and posting!!


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You recover from your Ex sighting by having a drink with Robert.
> 
> Drama galore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late update, dudes! It's been a busy week what with the holiday, but I didn't forget about y'all! 
> 
> Thanks for reading, and thanks for all of you who have been with me this far <3 Have a good holiday, those of you who celebrate! And don't forget to leave me nice comments ;P

Mat kept a sharp eye out after  _ he’d  _ left the coffee shop, in case he came back. You returned your laptop to your bag and sat in the chair you'd claimed, staring at the table top. There was no chance of you getting back to your work. You watched the condensation on your cup drip slowly, and after Mat brought you a cup of hot cocoa, you watched  _ that _ instead, following the steam with your eyes as it whisked away.

The police arrived not too long after  _ he’d  _ left. You answered their questions as well as you could, giving them the information they asked for. 

Who was he? What had he done? What had he said? Had he tried to bother you at all before that? 

You gave them the truth, and they left you with the empty advice to call them if he tried to bother you again. 

You wondered how many times he'd have to disrupt your life before they'd actually do something about it. 

When they'd gone, you continued to sit, occasionally sipping the drink Mat had brought you out of habit. It was hot and rich, it's warmth touching your tongue and lips but doing nothing to help the chill that had settled over you. 

It was different this time. 

Not the horrible blankness that had come over you the last time  _ he’d  _ appeared unexpectedly in your life. Your mind buzzed, thoughts running in endless circles through your brain as you rehashed everything that had happened. 

Part of you couldn't believe you'd stood up to him. 

Another part of you wasn't entirely convinced it had been the right thing to do. 

Yet another part of you wanted nothing more than to celebrate the fact that you were finally free, and were capable of telling  _ him  _ to get lost. You checked your phone at one point as it vibrated, a text from Robert playing across the screen. It was just a reply to a text you'd sent him that morning. 

You ignored it. 

By the time your drink had gone cold and lifeless, the sun had begun to set. Mat hadn't said much, helping whatever customers came in and keeping an eye on you from across the shop. He finally approached you as the most recent customer left, leaving the two of you alone again. 

“Hey, you doing okay?” He stopped a short distance away, blinking as you sluggishly lifted your eyes to his face. 

“Fine, I guess.” You shrugged, lowering your eyes to the table and absently spinning the cold coffee cup in your hands. “Fine as I can be, y’know?” 

He picked up your barely touched cup, his eyes flicking to your face momentarily. “I'm closing up soon. I'll walk with you back to the cul-de-sac if you want.” 

You were glad he'd brought it up. Somehow, you hadn't wanted to be the one to breach the subject. But Mat was a calm, steady presence, and someone who understood, better than anyone else in the neighborhood and without needing to be told, the fears you faced on a daily basis. 

“That would mean a lot to me.” You looked up at him, managing a half-hearted smile. 

Your thoughts were still mostly whirling, but the shock of the encounter had faded somewhat. As Mat finished closing up the shop, you stretched and stood up, almost ashamed that you'd been sitting motionless and blank for so long. Your joints felt stiff and sore, protesting as you finally moved again. And despite your best efforts, you couldn't quite pull yourself together. 

There was a space in you, where part of you had gone to hide and lick his wounds, while the calm facade you'd invented so many years ago took over. You weren't  _ gone,  _ weren't blank like  _ he’d  _ so often made you, but you weren't exactly _ you  _ either. Maybe going home would help. 

You had paused to wait just outside as Mat locked the door behind him when your phone buzzed again. This time, as you looked at the words playing across your screen, you couldn't ignore them. 

Robert was a hard man to ignore. 

_ its been awhile since we grabbed a drink _

You tapped out a reply immediately, glancing up as Mat turned toward you. 

_ Yeah it has. Meet me in 10? _

His reply came in as you and Mat started down the street together. 

_ Deal  _

You flushed as you pushed your phone into a pocket and looked up to find Mat watching you. “Sorry, that was probably rude.” 

He grinned, shrugging. “No worries. How're you doing?” 

The question caught you off guard. Chewing your lip, you watched the sidewalk as you paced evenly beside Mat. 

How  _ were  _ you doing? 

Looking back up at him, you decided on honesty. “Not great. But also. . . Kind of amazing at the same time?” It was difficult to explain just how exhilarating it had been to finally stand up to  _ him.  _ “Did I say thank you? For earlier.” 

“You didn't,” he chuckled. “But don't mention it. You're one of us now, and we don't let one of our own go it alone.” 

You smiled, inordinately pleased at the idea of being one of the group. 

As you came closer to the cul-de-sac, you slowed slightly. “I appreciate you walking with me, but I'm not actually going home.” He tipped a curious look in your direction, his eyebrows shooting up. “I can't get much safer than hanging around our resident Badass though. I'm just going down toward the bar, I should be alright.” 

Nodding, Mat turned toward home. He lifted a hand in farewell, and you thought you saw the shadow of a smirk on his face. You couldn't be sure. And besides, what would Mat have to look so smug about? 

No more than a few minutes later, you walked into the bar. The bar you’d walked to that first night, when you’d been hungry and lost, feeling crushed under the weight of your decision. It had felt so enormous that night, like you’d never crawl out from under that weight, but you hadn’t  _ really  _ thought about your decision to move in weeks. Other than to note, every so often, just how good a decision it had really been. 

You took a seat at the bar, looking around and seeing, not really to your surprise, that you didn’t recognize anyone there. It was probably too early for Mary to be out. Sometimes you wondered if Joseph knew she spent so much time hitting on younger men in bars, but you usually reminded yourself it was none of your business. You’d never seen her actually go  _ home  _ with one of them, at any rate. You  _ were  _ a little surprised that you didn’t see Robert anywhere. You’d assumed he was already at the bar and wanted you to meet him there.

As you sat, the friendly bartender approached at once. It had been awhile since you’d ventured down to the bar--your routine of occasionally wandering down there to have a drink, or to buy Robert a drink while you both sat in companionable silence, had lapsed. First your fear at having  _ him  _ lurking somewhere in the shadows, waiting to pounce if you left the safety of your home had kept you from going out. Then the weeks of crushing emptiness after the . . . incident with Robert had kept you confined to your couch. 

So it came as a surprise when the bartender remembered your usual and poured it without being asked. He nodded, saying in a soft voice and with a sardonic twist of his lips  that it was good to see you again. You thought you understood the irony, of a bartender being  _ glad  _ to see one of his regular patrons back. This town was so fucking  _ familiar.  _ You couldn’t even go to a bar without someone learning your face and noting your absence. 

You sat for a handful of moments by yourself, sipping the drink he’d poured: Vodka with enough Dr. Pepper to give it some color and taste. When the door opened, you shifted your eyes to the entrance, and felt a smile cross your face before you could help it. 

Robert stepped into the bar, pausing for a fraction of an instant to look around. You caught his eye, and were instantly reminded of that first night again, when you’d thought that Robert was  _ him.  _ Your reaction this time could not have been more different. 

Instead of the sinking, plunging descent into panic, you felt your stomach flutter. Nervousness, yes, but no panic or fear as he approached you. You looked away as he came close, wondering if he’d seen any of your thoughts on your face, but you glanced back up at him as he took the stool beside you. 

“Hey,” You met his eye briefly, surprised by how embarrassed you were to see him. You’d seen him a handful of times since your last talk, but somehow being back here, in the bar where you’d first seen him, had a new feel to it. 

He grunted, and you looked up just in time to see a half-smirk cross his face as he caught the bartender’s eye and indicated, with nothing more than a nod, that he wanted his usual. The bartender had already poured it, and a second later, his usual whiskey was on the bar in front of him. Only then did he turn toward you, letting his smile show a little more clearly now. 

He was still clean shaven, the effect it had on him stunning. It almost didn’t match his usual leather jacket and casual look, but you had to admit it was a good look for him anyway. 

As he sipped at his whiskey, you spoke without meaning to.

“I’m glad we got to do this.” He glanced at you, one eyebrow going up, but you went on. “Today has been . . . unbelievably shitty.” That was putting it lightly of course, but as you sipped your own drink, you realized it didn’t  _ feel _ like an understatement. It had sucked, but you’d managed. 

“Anything you wanna talk about?” He nudged you slightly, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. 

Staring down at the bar, you shrugged. “It was . . . it was  _ him.  _ My ex. He stopped by the Coffee Spoon, supposedly by accident.” 

Robert’s reaction startled you. He sat straight up, his eyes falling on your face with the intensity you’d come to expect from him. “ _ What?  _ Are you okay?” 

Before you could react, he’d dropped a hand to your knee, his touch gentle and almost unconscious as he leaned toward you, studying your face. His genuine concern for you warmed you, possibly even more than Mat’s had. You dropped your hand to cover his where it still rested on your knee, trying not to look around the bar to see if anyone had noticed the touch. “I’m . . . fine, mostly. Mat was there, and he pretty much saved the day.” You smiled, looking down at the bar again as you remembered how Mat had jumped to your rescue. “He called the cops, and my ex left.” 

Robert’s fingers tightened, and then he pulled away, resting both elbows on the bar and lifting his drink again. “Mat’s good people.” For a moment he was quiet, his eyebrows drawing down as he concentrated on whatever he was thinking. You just sipped your drink, letting the silence extend until he shifted and glanced sideways at you. “You're sure you're alright?” 

Suppressing a smile, you shrugged again. “A little shaken, honestly. It was . . . Scary, seeing him again after last time.” Scary wasn't exactly the right word, but it worked. “I just hope that's the last time I have to see him.” 

“It had better be.” He said the words in a growl under his breath, but you heard them and couldn't help laughing. It was nice to be worried about in a way that didn't feel possessive or controlling. 

He didn't pester you about the event much more, and you asked him about things with his daughter. That was a much more pleasant conversation. 

You loved seeing how he lit up with hope and pride as he talked about Val. Of course, you could see that it embarrassed him to open up about something, but you pretended not to notice, letting him share what he was comfortable sharing. He'd expressed before how proud he was of her and everything she'd accomplished in spite of her less-than-ideal start; you always tried to gently and indirectly contradict the idea that he'd screwed her up or done irreparable damage to her in her childhood. You couldn't stand seeing him talk badly about himself. 

Together, you passed a couple hours in the bar, talking together like you hadn't since your old routine had lapsed. There were plenty of stretches of silence, but they were the comfortable silence shared between friends. You tried not to notice or react every time he let his arm brush yours, or his fingers carefully touch your hand. But every time he did, you sparked with electricity, and your heart made a little startled leap. 

When it came time to leave, he picked up the tab, despite your protests. 

“I invited you out.” He explained, leveling an even stare on you until you relented. 

And then it was time to walk home. 

Neither of you had had more than a couple drinks. You were barely buzzed, feeling just that little bit of pleasant warmth and tingling across your skin, which only heightened as you stepped into the cool evening air. The sun had practically set, and you shivered as you adjusted. It was getting late in the year; soon you would need to think about winter clothes. 

You walked together in silence, neither of you inclined to interrupt the atmosphere of the night by talking. Every so often you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, but each time his eyes were focused somewhere in the distance. When he suddenly reached into his jacket pocket and produced a pack of cigarettes, you quickly sucked in a breath. Holding it for a moment, you forcefully squashed the rush of emotion; you hadn't seen him smoke since that night. 

The night you'd kissed him. 

You pointedly avoided looking directly at him as he silently smoked the cigarette, carefully keeping the smoke from blowing toward you whenever possible. As always. Still, you couldn't help inhaling the scent of his favored brand, and the smell only made it harder for you to forget the way his mouth had felt on yours that night. 

Only the knowledge that he wouldn't be able to see your blush in the darkness kept you from hiding your face as you tried to make the thoughts go away. 

You didn't need to be thinking that way. 

By the time you got to the cul-de-sac, you'd gotten ahold of yourself. It got easier once he'd put the cigarette out with the neat little gum wrapper trick, masking some of the smell with the aroma of spearmint. When you came up on your driveway, you'd practically managed to rein in your wayward thoughts. 

All your hard work was immediately dashed when he accompanied you up your walk and to the door. Now your heart was racing, and you couldn't have looked at him if you'd wanted to. You paused on the patio, hesitating, unsure what he wanted. 

“I'm sorry your day wasn't better.” He broke the silence that had hung over you since you'd left the bar, leaning one shoulder against your house and watching you. 

You risked a glance into his face, smiling half-heartedly. “You made up for it.” Cringing internally, you looked away again, clearing your throat. 

When he spoke again, you froze, your heart stalling in your chest. Gaping up at him, your cheeks burning, you gasped out the only response that occurred to your brain as it rapidly tried to reboot. 

“ _ What?!” _

His expression wasn't the familiar even stare, but a more intense look; one that took your breath away. He repeated himself calmly. “I said, I'd like to kiss you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CLIFFHANGERRRRR
> 
> oops


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> KISSU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for the scatterd-ness of this chapter note.
> 
> I've managed to hit 50k on my NaNo project, and I'm going to see how much over 50k I can write. Not sure if it'll be much (and I'm only about 3/4 of the way through my project, so . . .) and I'm a bit exhausted.
> 
> Hope you enjoy some more Dadsona freaking out for no discernible reason and Robert being unreasonably patient and kind to him haha

You blinked, swallowing hard. 

So you hadn't heard him wrong. “Okay,” you could hear your voice shaking, despite your efforts to remain calm. Your heart had started pumping so fast you were surprised you could talk at all past it trying to rocket out of your mouth via your throat. “I was just making sure I heard you right. Even after . . . What I told you before?” 

His expression softened slightly, and he shifted closer to you without actually moving away from the wall. Everything about his posture said he was calm and totally at ease. You wished  _ you  _ could be calm in this situation.

“Yes.” He said the one word simply. “As long as you're okay with it. We didn't have a lot of time last time, if I'm remembering correctly. Plus you caught me off guard, and I'd like to show you what I can do when I'm expecting it.” His smirk came suddenly, like he couldn't hold in a smile any more, and you felt your knees buckle slightly. 

“God I'm just . . .  _ Not _ used to being asked first.” You cringed even as you admitted it; it still felt so awful to say out loud, even though Robert knew. You had nothing left to hide from him. 

You caught his expression darkening slightly, before he pushed himself away from the wall, finally crowding you in that familiar way of his. Pressing close to you so you had to look up at him, but without touching you, and without the demeanor that would have made it threatening. “What can I say: I'm a gentleman.” 

That got you to laugh, and you relaxed slightly, letting a hand sneak out to carefully rest on his chest, so lightly you could barely feel the fabric of his shirt against your skin. You met his eyes, looking up at him as he stood so close to you that you could feel heat radiating from him. “You're anything  _ but.”  _ You chuckled. 

For a moment you stood quietly, neither of you moving, but neither of you pulling away or lowering your eyes. His expression sobered up again, and he lifted a hand to cup your cheek. You shuddered under his touch, nearly missing his next words. 

“I mean it: I won't do anything you're not okay with. I'd really like to kiss you again, but if that's not something you want, or if it's not something you're okay with, that's fine.” 

Your heart still hadn't calmed from the breakneck pace it was beating at, but it nearly stopped altogether as you realized he was serious. All at once, you leaned forward, stretching up to close the distance between you. He met you halfway, pausing as you hesitated, a fraction of an inch away from him. 

His hand had slipped back to your neck, his other hand coming to your waist. Somehow both your hands had tangled into the front of his shirt. He smelled like smoke and whiskey and spearmint, and you felt his breath on your lips as you hesitated for a fraction of a second. 

Then you closed the gap entirely, pressing your mouth to his. Not entirely sure why you did it, or if you could handle it, but trying all the same. 

He welcomed you with a slight tightening of his fingers on your hip and a press of his lips against yours. 

Then it was over as you pulled away, breathless. 

What the fuck had  _ that _ been? 

Without widening the distance between you, you pressed a hand to your mouth, surprised. You hadn't felt  _ that  _ nice about kissing someone since . . . Since the first time you'd kissed  _ him.  _ Your heart raced in your ears, drowning out any conscious thought, and electricity tingled through you where his fingers still brushed your neck and hip. Turning to look back up at him curiously, you found him watching you, his expression wary. 

He drew breath to speak, but you cut him off by kissing him again, this time with more intensity than you'd realized you could muster. He let out a surprised noise, but didn't resist as you pressed yourself against him, tightening your fingers in the front of his shirt and pulling him closer. He needed to bend slightly to reach your mouth, but you pushed yourself onto your toes to make it easier on him, somehow only half consciously realizing that you needed to do it. His mouth was hard against yours, but welcoming as he opened up to your advance. 

When you pulled away, your heart was racing only partially because of how his mouth had felt. The rest of it was panic as you contemplated what you'd done. What it might mean. What he might think of it. What he might, now, expect of you. 

Before you could decide if you were okay with what had happened, he pulled you up to kiss him again, taking the lead. You tingled with electricity as he pressed soft kiss after soft kiss to your lips, his fingers trailing across your hip, teasing their way under your shirt to trace over the delicate skin at the curve of your hip bone. 

You gasped, pulling away for a fraction of a second, hardly able to catch your breath before he pulled you back against him. 

Suddenly the electricity was gone, and you stiffened as he started pressing hot kisses against your jaw, and then your neck. His breath trailed over you skin like a too-hot puff of wind, and you shuddered. Your mind had gone blank. You'd gone away, swallowed up by the abyss as his fingers explored further up your shirt. 

This was what he wanted. 

Just because you couldn't give it to him didn't mean he couldn't take it. 

Before you could stop it, before you could even fully comprehend that it was happening, you felt tears starting to fall. 

Even as you choked back a sob, you felt Robert stiffen against you. He pulled away so quickly you were left shocked and gasping at the sudden loss of contact. Not only did he pull away, he threw both his arms wide, yanking his hands off your body and stepping back to leave a gap between you. Swallowing a sudden sob, you looked up into his face to see that his eyes had gone wide.

“Fuck!” 

He said it so loudly that you flinched, and as he moved toward you again, you cringed back against the wall. Pulling your arms against your chest, you shrank into yourself, trying to find your way out of the darkness. His hands fell to your arms, and you cringed, but he only seemed to want to touch you, not to hold you in place or hurt you.

“I’m so sorry.” He’d gotten control of the volume of his voice again, lowering his voice and speaking softly. His touch was soft as well, his fingers on you arm with just enough pressure to be reassuring. “I went too far, didn’t I?” 

The tears still tracked down your face, but you managed to nod, gasping in a huge breath as you struggled to get ahold of yourself. Pressing a hand over your eyes, you took a few deep breaths, shuddering as he rubbed his hands up and down your arms, apparently at a loss of what else to do. He spoke the whole time, apologizing again and again. 

You wished he wouldn’t.

It would have been easier if he’d just been another asshole.

“I’m so sorry. I should have known better.” 

As you managed to stop the flow of tears, you choked out a shaky laugh. “How could you have known better? I should be able to manage a fucking kiss.”

Now that the panic had mostly subsided, the anger flared to life. Anger at yourself, for being so pathetic that having a hot guy kissing your neck had sent you into a flurry of panic. Anger that something so trivial, so  _ stupid  _ had sent you scurrying into the abyss to escape, willing to just let him do whatever he wanted, if it meant you didn’t have to try and make it stop.

His fingers tightened slightly on your upper arms, and you looked up into his face, startled at his expression. He looked almost angry. “Hey.” Meeting your gaze steadily, he stared down at you, emphatic. “It’s not. Your. Fucking. Fault. Okay?”

You shook your head, knowing even as you did it that he wouldn’t like the response. It didn’t  _ matter,  _ even if he told you it wasn't your fault, you still felt  _ wrong.  _ Bad. Because you should be able to handle it. 

It wasn’t a fucking disaster, it was just a kiss from an attractive man. 

_ An attractive man who reminds you strongly of your ex, don’t forget.  _

He went on, and you dragged your attention back to him, quivering still as the tears threatened to come roaring back. “I shouldn’t have pushed things. I didn’t . . . I don’t know what I was thinking, but I hoped it would be okay. This is  _ my  _ fault, and I’m sorry.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he glared, and you swallowed your words, smiling slightly. “You made your boundaries clear, and I pushed them. I promise, I’ll never do that again.”

You didn’t say the words that you wanted to say, knowing that voicing them would only make him feel worse.

_ I’ve heard that promise before, Small.  _

Instead, you nodded, uncurling slightly from the defensive position you’d taken almost without realizing it. You lowered your arms, resting your hands on his forearms and pushing yourself away from the wall slightly. This pushed you closer to him, and you caught your breath, remembering how close you’d been only a moment before, and realizing that, before you’d panicked, it had been quite nice. You wondered when you would be able to enjoy the niceness of it without flipping your shit. Or if you’d ever be able to.

“Tell you what,” He lifted a hand slowly, hesitating before cupping your cheek. His hand was rough against your skin, but his touch was gentle. “I’ll make you a promise. I will never,  _ never  _ do anything without asking you first. Better yet, I’ll wait until  _ you  _ ask. Does that . . . sound okay?”

With a flash of realization, you understood something. 

Robert was just as lost here as you were.

He had no idea how to handle this, but he was trying.

If  _ he  _ could try, so could you.

Making yourself nod, you cleared your throat. The words didn’t want to come, but you forced them out. “I . . . I like that idea.” You weren’t sure you’d make good on his offer and  _ ask him  _ for much, but if he could keep his promise and not push any more of your boundaries, you were game. 

His expression softened into a smile, and you stiffened as he leaned closer, only to stop himself a fraction of a second later, flinching. 

Had he nearly tried to kiss you again?

Somehow knowing that he’d nearly gone to kiss you again, only to stop himself, made your chest feel warm. Meeting his eyes, you stretched up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He met you with a soft pressure, but you ended it after only a moment. 

“I think I need to go inside. . .” You needed some time to go over the events of the day again.

All of a sudden it hit you. It had been a  _ long _ day, and you were exhausted. Your eyes felt gritty and strained from the tears, and an ache was developing at your right temple. Before you could guilt yourself into staying longer and trying again, Robert leaned closer to you, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment. 

You rested against him, closing your eyes and absorbing the contact. It was gentle, and completely unthreatening. Without the assumption that more would be happening. When he pulled away, he left the shadow of a kiss behind on your forehead, and you smiled, watching him leave with a small wave and the familiar smirk that you'd come to associate with his good humor. 

You slept restlessly that night, and dreamed and Robert and your ex were one and the same. They tormented you by showing up wherever you went and apologizing. 

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You get an invitation!

Now that you’d gotten yourself into a new routine, you felt like you were making progress every day.

  
Work stopped piling up, and you only felt marginally guilty if you let it sit for a day. There were still days where it seemed like too much, and you barely managed to drag yourself out of bed, but they were less frequent, and you always felt rested after them. Sometimes you needed to rest.

  
On days where you felt like you were doing well, you tried to leave the house. Sometimes you would catch Brian in his yard and stop for a while to chat with him. A few times you ventured to the park and ran into Brian and his daughter and their dog, or Joseph reading a book while his kids played in the playground. Sometimes you caught Craig and his daughters out on a run. You ran into Robert at the park surprisingly often, too. He always offered you a glance and a nod of recognition, but he almost always looked too lost in thought for you to want to disturb.

  
Otherwise, more often than not, you stopped to chat whenever you saw a neighbor.

  
Now that you were really trying and hoping to improve, it seemed like a good idea to try getting to know the other neighbors. If Robert and Mat were any indication, they were good people, and you wanted to know them all.

  
You saw Robert pretty frequently, now. Other than when you spotted him in the wild, that is. Sometimes he texted you, or showed up at your door with an idea and a smirk on his face. Sometimes you texted him, when you wanted someone to watch a movie with. No matter what you were doing, he kept his promise not to push your boundaries. Though things had shifted between you, you still felt good about being near him, and your silences still stretched for minutes at a time as you both sat comfortably together wherever you were.

  
You were feeling good about yourself and your life for the first time in years.

  
Despite how good it felt, it was terrifying at the same time.

  
You had just received a text from Robert asking if you wanted to go on a walk with he and Betsy (or as Robert put it, cryptid hunting with the deadbeat dog), and stepped outside only to have something flutter to the ground. Surprised and with a sense of curiosity, you stooped to pick it up. It was an envelope, thick and heavy, and addressed, rather fancily, to you.

  
You opened it, overcome by curiosity.

  
Inside, a piece of the same heavy paper had been folded in thirds, and as you unfolded it, you again saw your name.

 

_You are cordially invited to attend_   
_A neighborhood barbecue_   
_hosted by_   
_Damien_   
_and Lucien_   
_Bloodmarch._   
_The event will take place_   
_This Saturday._   
_Please bring a dish or a drink to share_   
_and yourself._   
_We look forward to your attendance._

 

You felt a smirk stretching across your face as you read the invitation. Damien’s handwriting was impeccable, and despite the formality of the language, you felt that it was a warm, friendly invitation.  
You wondered if all his correspondence was through hand-delivered letters.

  
Tucking the letter away into your pocket, you locked up and went on your way. At least now you and Robert would have something to talk about. Or at least, you’d have an excuse to break the silence that normally dominated your cryptid hunting outings with Robert.

  
You tried not to think about the last time you'd attempted to attend a neighborhood barbecue.

  
This time would be different.

  
As you stepped down your driveway, you heard the familiar jingle of Betsy’s collar, and you looked up with a smile on your face. Robert came toward you in the waning evening light, Betsy walking beside him with her tongue lolling and her tail wagging a million miles a minute. As he passed your house, you fell into step beside him.

  
Only the nod and sideways glance he gave you indicated any sort of acknowledgment to your presence, but you didn't mind. A lot of your meetings started that way.

  
It would probably be several minutes before either of you broke the silence.

  
As the two of you left the cul-de-sac, you followed Robert’s lead, guessing, as he turned, that you were probably headed on his favored route. The one that took you through the graveyard.  
You remembered the first time he'd invited you on one of these cryptid hunting excursions. You'd followed him dutifully, silently trailing beside him and taking in the scenery; it had been quiet, the whole town seemingly at rest. When he'd turned to go into the graveyard, you'd hesitated. Only for a fraction of a second, but he noticed, and he'd stopped, turning to face you in the darkness. Then he'd, very seriously, assured you that it was just his usual route, and if you were too weirded out by it, you could go another way.

  
And you'd flushed, thinking back to the time he'd taken you out to his thinking spot. Was that what he'd been thinking about, too?

  
Now, as you walked together, you had to smile to yourself at the memory. Laughing at the way you'd been so terrified of him for so long.

  
He glanced sideways at you, one eyebrow going up in that familiar expression. As good as a question, a whole sentence asking what you were laughing about. It was nice, being able to read him so well.  
You supposed it was to be expected; you’d been friends, and hanging out a lot for months now.

  
Chuckling to yourself, you shook your head. “It’s nothing, really. Just . . . remembering my first couple weeks in town. I didn’t know anybody, I was scared all the time.” You paused, glancing up at him as you walked side-by-side into the graveyard. His eyes hadn’t left the path in front of you, but you could tell from the quirk of his eyebrows that he was listening. Just because he didn’t speak didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention. “I didn’t have any friends, and I was . . . pretty convinced I wouldn’t make any. And, I dunno, I guess it’s just funny to think that I’m here, of all places, and with you of all people.”

  
A silence passed between you as you walked, wending your way deeper among the gravestones. Betsy trotted at Robert’s side with quick steps, her leash jangling with her every movement. You didn’t say any more, staring out at the silent graveyard. You still sometimes got the creeps coming here; it was surreal. Such a quiet area. No one else ever seemed to be here, except the occasional group of unruly teenagers, who you and Robert always carefully avoided.

  
Tonight, it was still and quiet as usual. The gravestones reared out of the darkness like teeth, spaced evenly, some of them cared for well, with flowers or stuffed animals left in respect. Others stood half-buried in dirt or grass, uncared for and alone in the darkness. You’d wondered before why Robert tended to gravitate here; so far, you hadn’t been brave enough to ask him.

  
You jumped, flinching slightly as he suddenly brushed against you. His arm touched yours, and his fingers brushed against your hand. Looking up at him, surprised, you felt heat rising to your cheeks as the “accidental” brush of his fingers on yours became more purposeful. More intentional. He twined his fingers through yours, glancing sideways at you as he did, one eyebrow shooting up.  
You flushed, lowering your eyes. His skin was rough against yours, his hand warm and solid in your grasp. You hadn’t been expecting the contact--still so unused to any sort of affection that, for one, came without strings attached, and for two, came from him.

  
Shooting a glance around you, you reassured yourself that the two of you were alone. Entirely alone. No one nearby to notice the display.

  
Suddenly, a thought occurred to you, and you reached into your pocket for the letter you’d found on your door as you left. “Oh, that reminds me.” Trying to speak past the overwhelming feeling of his fingers twined through your own, you flashed the letter at him. “I got this today. Does Damien usually hand write and deliver invitations to things?”

  
Robert snorted, choking back a laugh. “Oh, so you got yours. I knew he planned to invite you, but he hesitated for like a week.” When you looked up at him, unsure whether to be hurt or not, he shook his head, going on quickly. “He was worried it would be weird, or that you’d feel pressured to go. He really wants you to like him, and he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

  
You didn’t need to ask him what event was echoing in the silence that followed his sentence. You hadn’t exactly handled the last barbecue you’d been to very well; but you were determined not to let this one overwhelm you.

  
Squeezing Robert’s hand almost unconsciously, you watched the ground in front of you while you walked in silence for another moment. It was still so . . . unfamiliar, to discuss things like that with him candidly. So it took you a moment to find the right words for what you wanted to say.

  
When you did, you kept your eyes on the ground, watching the scattering of leaves that had fallen as the weather grew cool. You had to restrain yourself from trying to step on each one you passed, to hear it crunching beneath your shoes. “Damien seems really nice.” Your voice was strained, and you paused to clear your throat, still not looking up at Robert. “Actually, they’re all really nice. I . . . really want to go to this barbecue and kinda, I dunno, make a new first impression.”

  
His fingers tightened around yours, the pressure reassuring. “Most of them already really like you.” He stopped walking, tugged at your hand, finally dragging your eyes back up to his face. As you met his eyes, you smiled despite yourself. “You know that, right? They might not know you really well, but they all want to know you. Especially since--” he cut himself off, and you tipped your head curiously.

  
Since what?

  
And was he blushing?

  
You stared, your heart suddenly jumping into your throat. Had he . . . had he already told someone about . . . how things were going between you?

  
Now you could feel heat crawling into your own face. He hadn’t, had he? You still weren’t even sure what exactly was going on between the two of you, so surely he . . .

  
Shaking your head, you sucked in a deep breath. “I actually wanted to ask you . . .” It wasn’t a lie--the invitation had brought the thought into your head, he’d just offered you a nice excuse. “Do you wanna, I dunno, go to this thing, like . . . together?”

  
You cringed at the way you’d stumbled over your words, but he just squeezed your hand. “If that’s what you want to do. You know they’re all . . . okay with this, right?”

  
You didn’t feel so sure, but you nodded all the same. Truth be told, none of the neighbors had batted an eye when your ex had shown up and not been a woman. The majority of people didn’t really care, in an abstract way. They were open and understanding, and accepted everyone, but people could react . . . unpredictably, when the abstract suddenly turned into the concrete.

  
“I just . . . I don’t want them to. . .” You swallowed, shrugging helplessly. “Assume anything, y’know?”

  
While Betsy sat patiently between you, Robert leaned in and pressed his lips to your forehead. You stretched up to meet the contact, at once still reeling from the strangeness of receiving affection from him, and melting into the warmth that was his affection. Without pulling away much, he spoke again, his lips brushing your skin as his mouth moved. “They aren’t going to assume anything. They might be unbearable though, because, eh . . . they’re really rooting for us.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes and pulling away even as you grinned. “Alright, I have to know. Who’d you tell?”

  
“I didn’t tell anyone!” He huffed as you both started walking again, still hand-in-hand. There was a beat, and then he grinned sheepishly. “Mat guessed.”

  
He would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well hello, dear Readers!
> 
> I know it's been a while. I have good news and bad news.
> 
> The good news is, of course, that I updated! But even more important than that, the NaNo novel I wrote for NaNo 2017 is nearly complete. With any luck, I'll be publishing by the end of the year!!
> 
> The bad news is: I unfortunately have *no* idea where this story is going, if it's going anywhere at all. This started out as a project that was very personal and important to me. It was a way for me to face some of the feelings I've had toward some past experiences, and honestly, it was a *huge* success in that aspect. I can't express just how helpful this piece has been to me in so many different ways. Not only as it's helped me process difficult emotions and thoughts, but as it's helped me to improve my writing and given me something to work toward. Every kind comment, every view, every kudos, it all gave me something to work toward. A reason to sit down and write regularly, when for so many years I just didn't write at all. Every one of you, those who have commented and those who haven't, have helped me in this, and I appreciate it more deeply than any of you will probably ever know. But unfortunately, this may be the end. Maybe someday I'll find an ending for this story and come back to finish it. But until that happens, I unfortunately don't have any more to write here.
> 
> Thank you, deeply and from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who read. Everyone who commented and left kudos. Everyone who allowed me to write as much of this piece as I did. 
> 
> I hope you'll stick around to see my other works (as I'm sure there will be plenty more!).


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